The Acolyte aka The Other Other Half
by redplanetes
Summary: A sequel to The Other Half. Helen introduces her niece Mena to the monster. What mayhem will follow? Not for minors.
1. Chapter 1

Just so everyone who cares knows, The Other Other Half is a working title. I just haven't written enough of the story to come up with a better one yet. If anyone has a suggestion I'm very willing to hear it.

**Warning:** Bad language and girl talk.

_Chapter 1_

Cicadas buzzed in waves in the late afternoon heat. Helen held the weeping glass of iced tea against her forehead and closed her eyes, pretending her whole body was enveloped in that cool, fragrant moisture. She normally hated summer and its draining temperatures, but oh, this was going to be a special one, and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

A deep rumble was approaching on the dirt road leading to the house. The corners of Helen's mouth curled up slightly in appreciation even before she could see the vehicle. After a moment an electric blue muscle car pulled around a curve; its throaty engine revved slightly as it rolled up to her porch, then shut off. She set the glass down and went to the porch's screen door as a beaming girl emerged from the car.

"Maenad!"

"Aunt Hel!"

They embraced tightly. "Oh, I'm so glad you came, Mena." Helen held an arm around the girl's waist.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, you know that. Whaddaya think?" the girl asked, doing a Vanna White at her car.

"I so thoroughly approve, Mena. You make me proud. Ford, huh?"

"Well, Chevy didn't make Mustangs in 1970, Aunt Hel," Mena laughed, looking over at her aunt's well-loved and ancient red truck.

After supper they sat on the dark porch, sipping tequila and listening to the crickets. "You still make the best roast in the world, Aunt Hel, I don't know how you do it. I'm not leaving without the recipe." Helen sighed and smiled. "Well, I promised you an interesting summer, so I suppose I can let you in on a few secrets." She was silent for a minute, then asked, "What are you armed with these days?" To anyone else it would have been a strange question, but Mena answered eagerly. "Oh, let me show you!"

She turned the porch light on, and displayed the pistol on her hip, and the four knives she wore. A boot knife; a long, serious-looking Arkansas toothpick tied to her thigh; a delicate, feminine blade in a sheath between her breasts; and a tiny, razor-sharp knife in the back waistband of her pants. "You never know -"

"- when it might come in handy." Helen finished the admonition she had preached countless times to her neice. She fingered the blades, noting with satisfaction that they were well-honed, and slightly worn with use. She handed them back to the girl. "Show me what you can do."

Mena took the knives, pointed at a wooden chair at the other end of the porch. She focused, looking like a hawk sizing up a rabbit, then flicked each knife at the chair. Thock, thock, thock, thock; the chair's back sprouted four blades before toppling backwards to the floor. Helen clapped. "Good girl!" She poured them each a new drink, raised her glass. Mena held hers up, clinked glasses with her aunt. "The unexpected!" they shouted in unison, then laughed and downed their tequila.

"Mom didn't want me to come, you know." Mena smirked and continued. "She says you were a bad influence on me."

"And what do **_you_** think?" Helen asked, peering at the girl, head tilted.

"Oh, definitely."

Helen barked out a laugh. "And have you been a bad girl?"

Mena stuck her tongue between her teeth as she grinned mischievously. "My probation officer would say so. Don't worry, I'm not on probation anymore. I learned after the first time, don't get caught."

Helen cackled. "When are you going to get a tattoo?"

"I'm way ahead of ya, Aunt Hel." Mena smiled and pulled her sleeve up to display the brand-new ink sprawled across her shoulder. "I got this the day after my birthday. Mom was so pissed." A huge white wolf, head lowered, eyes glaring, mouth dripping blood. The ink was so new that the skin was still slightly bruised, and was peeling a little. "Very nice!" Helen said. Mena turned the light out again so they could enjoy the darkness.

"Aunt Hel, do you remember when I was a little girl, and you said you had a man? That you'd introduce me to him when I was eighteen?" Helen could tell Mena had been dying to ask this all evening. She couldn't help grinning.

"Oh yes, my little maenad. That's why I insisted you come out to visit me this summer." She could see Mena's face light up.

"You never told me anything about him. I've just had to guess..." She waited for her aunt to speak, in vain. "So... when **_do_** I get to meet him?"

Helen leaned forward, peered at the quarter moon just beginning to rise above the treetops. "Mmm, about ten more days, I think..."

* * *

A few days later they were driving down the highway in Mena's car, Helen studying the landscape earnestly. A few times she asked the girl to slow so she could look closer, but didn't find what she was searching for. Finally, she muttered, "Yes, ...yes!" and motioned for Mena to pull over. They got out, and Helen led her niece off into the trees. There was no trail but memory. 

After a time they arrived at a small clearing with a stone outcrop at one side. Helen bent down stiffly and began sidling under the ledge, then turned to reassure the girl. "It's a cave. It's ok, I've been here before." She rolled into the opening, turned on her flashlight as Mena followed. The dusty tennis shoe still lay in the rubble by the faint path. A broad smile was plastered on Helen's face as she took the girl's hand and led her to the cavern.

Helen stepped into the larger space, leading Mena, and handed the flashlight to the girl. Mena shone the light around, illuminating dusty worktables, cabinets, old washtubs, and toolboxes. A leg. The light traveled up the leg; it joined a body frozen in mid-scream against the wall. "Whoa..." Mena breathed, stepping forward slowly. Helen stood and watched. The girl lifted the light to see the bodies strewn all over the curved cavern ceiling; she turned in place, staring open-mouthed.

"Are they _**real**?_" she asked breathlessly.

"Oh yes. They're stuffed. Taxidermied."

Mena continued her exploration. After a minute, she asked, "Are they **_yours_**?"

Helen laughed heartily. "No, they're not mine."

"They're **_his_**. Aren't they? This is **_his_** place. Your man." Mena's voice was full of wonder and excitement. Helen breathed a silent sigh of relief. The world hadn't ruined the girl, turned her into a fearful herd animal. She knew the girl was ready for the next surprise. "Yes, Maenad. This is one of his places. The one where I first found him. C'mere..." She pulled a cloth-wrapped object from her pocket.

As Mena shone the light on it, Helen uncovered the beautiful ulu her creature had made for her years ago. She held it out for her neice to see. The girl took it, studied it carefully. The handle was carved with a scene; some kind of creature with huge bat-like wings and claws and teeth, an ecstatic look on its face, a woman astride it wearing the same joyful expression. "That's him," Helen said.

It was several minutes before Mena looked up and spoke. "If you'd shown me this before I'd seen this place, I'd have thought you were as crazy as Mom says you are."

Helen chuckled. "Yeah, I know."

"And all this time I thought he was in prison or something! This is just ...so ..._**wild**!_

Helen grinned. _My exact words_.

"What **_is_** he?"

"I don't know. He doesn't know really. Called himself an 'eater'. That's what he does. He eats. People."

Helen laid the ulu on the edge of a worktable, and wrote with her finger in the dust: COME GET ME, SEXY. Mena giggled at this. _Aunt Hel, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair, who hasn't even had a boyfriend all my life_. Helen jerked her head to the tunnel, followed Mena back up to the surface.

They stopped at a run-down gas station late that afternoon. It was a place Helen hadn't been to in the years she's lived in the area; it was far enough from her house that it meant nothing but a landmark on an endless stretch of country road. Inside was much as she'd imagined - dark, cheerless, dirty bordering on squalid, not a hint of nostalgic charm. Mena paid for the gas while Helen perused the tiny selection of cold drinks. As she stood pondering which out-of-date bottle of juice to take, she heard teenagers talking in low, earnest voices around a corner. "...fuckin' huge wings..." caught her instant attention. She pretended to gaze into the cooler while she eavesdropped.

"It was real, I'm tellin' ya!"

"You're such a spaz, no way was that thing real. It was just that crazy farmer's joke on dumbasses like you."

"Fuck you, Dolan, you saw the looks on their faces. **_They_** thought it was real. They were really scared of that...'bat outta hell' thing. Even dead and dried up and nailed to their own wall, they were freaked by it."

"Taggert's just an inbred sodbuster, an' so's his old man. They probably forgot they made it in the first place. C'mon, let's get outta here."

Helen was intrigued. "Bat out of hell". "Fucking huge wings". Something no one could believe was real without being scared shitless. Sounded like her creature... Her eyes narrowed as a tiny smile crept over her face.

Mena had finished paying for her gas and candy bars. Helen grabbed a suspicious-looking bottle of tomato juice and brought it to the scruffy woman at the register. As the woman tacitly rang it up, Helen asked, "Say, you wouldn't happen to know where the Taggert farm is, would ya?" The woman frowned, pursed her lips, then mumbled, "Taggert. Naw, sorry, haven't heard of them."

_Damn._

"No, wait a sec. I think there's a Taggert lives out on Route 37. About sixty miles or so from here. Did some years back anyway, I don't go that way much anymore."

Helen held the grin inside, thanked the woman. Mena looked questioningly at her aunt as they walked back to the Mustang. "What's up, Aunt Hel? You're up to something."

"I think we'll go for another drive tomorrow, go see some sights."

Mena knew better than to try getting any more information out of her. Aunt Helen was the most secretive person she knew.

Back at the house, the two women sat on the twilit porch, eating sandwiches and homemade pickles. Halfway through the meal, Helen put her sandwich down and looked hard at her neice. "The recipe for my roast."

Mena smiled through a mouthful of the said meat, raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"**_He_** taught it to me."

The girl continued chewing, thinking. She swallowed, sucking her teeth. After a minute she said, "It's not beef, is it."

"No."

"It's not pork, either."

"No."

"It sure as hell isn't chicken."

Helen laughed.

"You're an 'eater' too, huh."

"Yeah, I aquired a taste for it."

"I'd say I have, too." Mena grinned, taking another bite of her sandwich.

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

The next morning Helen sat in the passenger seat again, holding a partially unfolded road map. She ran her finger along a faint blue line. "Stay on this road until we pass Shiloh, then about ...eight miles further should be Route 37." She folded the map and dug around in her bag, coming up with a small bottle of painkillers. A couple of pills were shaken out and washed down with a swig of tequila from a hip flask. Mena watched from the corner of her eye, slightly worried. "You ok?"

"Yeah. My hip's been falling apart for years, and sitting in a car just rubs it the wrong way. Don't worry, Maenad. Ars longa, vita brevis."

"Yeeeeah. Uh, you are really not making any sense at all, Aunt Hel."

Helen laughed. "Sorry. What I mean is, some things are **_so_** worth a little pain." She smiled wider as her thoughts turned inward. "Mmm hmmm..." She rummaged around in the glovebox. "What have you got to listen to?"

Mena ginned. "There's some vintage punk in there, you'll like that."

Helen held up a cd. "I never thought I'd live to hear Sex Pistols called 'vintage'." She slid the disc into Mena's jury-rigged stereo, cranked up the volume. "And now, the end is neahhh, and so I face, the final cuhhhtain, ha ha ha!" The two women mimed Sid Viscious' goofy intro to 'My Way'. "And that, much more than this, I did it myyyyyy way."

They drove along Route 37 for hours, slowing every time a cluster of mailboxes appeared so Helen could search for the name 'Taggert'. Finally, in the early afternoon, she spotted a lone dented mailbox bearing the name, standing beside a narrow dirt road. Below the mailbox was a large handpainted sign. SEE THE BAT OUT OF HELL - 1 mile, and an arrow. "Bingo," Helen whispered. They rolled slowly down the road, eventually coming to a dead end at the bleak and hard-bitten Taggert farm.

The house and outbuildings had all seen better days; they weren't exactly in disrepair, but no effort had been put into making anything comforting or homey. It looked like a place where the people had lost their sense of hope.

Another handpainted sign on the barn read, BAT OUT OF HELL - LOOK $5 PHOTO $10.

A grizzled man was walking towards them from a shed. As they got out of the car, Helen pointed at the sign, called out, "We're here to see **_that_**." The man reached them; a beaten, tired look lived on his face. "Just to see, or you want to take a picture?" She studied his face. A deep scar cut from one eye down across the bridge of his nose; his mouth wasset in a grim line. He was trying to look bored, but underneath that weak mask, Helen could see nervousness. _He's scared of something. He's scared of what's in **there**, even though he doesn't want to admit it to himself. Farmers don't spook easily, their lives are too tough for fairy tales._

The man noticed Helen staring at him, met her gaze. She suddenly knew. _He's seen my creature_. She recognized the awe of someone who'd seen something beyond their comprehension. Her eyes wandered back to the scar. _He's had a run-in with my creature._ She couldn't stop the corner of her mouth twitching up.

The man scowled at Helen. _Someting not right about these two_... He noticed the look in her eyes as well, another person who'd seen _**it**, _but his mind wouldn't let him go there.

"Just a look." Helen smiled broadly and handed the man ten dollars, then took Mena's arm and limped towards the barn. The man glared at their backs for a moment, trying to figure out why he was so uneasy all of a sudden. Then he shook his head and followed at a distance.

The barn had no animal smell to it. That was the first thing Helen noticed. It hadn't been used as a stable for a very long time. The building seemed to be an extra large storage shed now, for supplies and hay only. As her eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior, she saw what was up on the wall. There was no doubt. Her heart raced. Mena gasped, whispered, "Aunt Hel...?"

Helen's eyes were wide and bright, her mouth wearing a wide smile of fierce joy. Even as shriveled and torn as the body was, it still had that unstoppable magic in it. If it had been a mountain lion's sleeping form nailed crudely to the wall, she have been mortally offended by the humiliating treatment, but then, mountain lions didn't have a sense of humor. She knew somehow that being stitched together and displayed on a wall would be a great source of laughter for her unique creature.

"Is that...?" Mena whispered. Helen nodded proudly, turned to smile at her niece. The girl looked amazed but worried. "Is he... **_dead?"_** Helen heard the unspoken question. _After all this time, I don't get to meet him?_

"I killed it myself." The voice was old but strong. They turned to see an old man sitting in a lawn chair against the front wall. There was a huge machine next to him, pointed menacingly at the thing on the wall. "I brought it down with this," he stroked and patted the machine, but kept his misty eyes on the corpse. "Then I stabbed it through the heart." He finally blinked and turned to stare at them. "It didn't die easy."

"Enough, Dad. Just let them look at it in peace." The man who had taken the money was leaning on the doorframe; Helen could tell he wanted them to leave, they made him nervous. She couldn't help herself, started to prod the old man for more of the story. Mena beat her to the punch. "So what happened?" The girl was smiling ever so slightly. Helen recognized that mischievous gleam. _She's goading them. That's my Maenad..._

The old man answered even while the man in the doorway opened his mouth to try and stop the story. "It took my son. My little boy..." Helen thought back, bit her tongue to keep from asking, "a blond kid?" The old man continued. "I hunted it, and I killed it, and if it wakes up I'll kill it again." Crazy talk, to anyone else. Helen realized this man knew more than some. Not enough, though.

"Let's go, Mena. We've seen enough." Helen followed the girl out of the barn, raised her eyes and smiled knowingly at the man with the scar as she walked past him. The man frowned; fear flickered across his face. He continued to stare at them as the Mustang retreated back up the dirt road.

"Aunt Hel. That... it looked dead."

"Oh, don't worry, Mena, somehow I don't think that's so unusual. He looks much better when he's eaten."

"What about that old guy and his harpoon gun?"

"Hmm hm," Helen chuckled, "I think he's in for a little surprise."

Mena was quiet for a minute. "Should we... help?"

Helen pondered this. Her creature did look kind of at a disadvantage, nailed to a wall and threatened with impalement. She recollected the effortless mastery her monster had over injury, the way it just took everything in stride, the way it embraced the risks and wounds of battle with open arms. She smiled and answered the girl. "No. He'll be fine. We'd just get in the way."

Four nights later, a thin crescent moon hung over the turquoise remains of the evening. Jack Taggert was in a foul mood; he had worked hard all day, and now his father refused to come in for supper. Jack didn't really believe the thing on the wall would ever move again, but his father did, and the stress of having to hear about it more and more every day was eating at his nerves. Finally he gave up and stalked off, leaving the old man sitting stubbornly with his post-puncher gun and a halogen spotlight.

Before ten minutes had even passed, Jack heard a metallic bang as the post puncher was fired. He spat out his mouthful of food and scrambled to the barn, heart pounding. He slammed against the barn's doorframe to stop himself, and tried to focus on what was inside. The wall was different. The wings were there, an arm and a leg still hung in place, but the rest was missing. A homemade harpoon was imbedded in the wall in the center of the empty space. A slack cable ran down into the shadows on the other side of the halogen lamp.

A wet, crunching sound came from the shadows. Jack's heart nearly stopped. "...Dad?" Nothing for a moment, then his father's hand waved at him in the beam of light. He breathed a sigh of relief, trotted quickly over.

As he approached the post puncher, the hand extended further into the light. It was not attached to an arm anymore, and was held around the wrist by a dark, bony claw. The claw waved the hand again, flapping it ridiculously, then the claw's arm and the monster it belonged to stepped into the light. The thing that had been dead, that had been nailed to the wall for twenty-something years, grinned a bloody mouthful of teeth at Jack, then shoved the hand in its mouth.

There was a hole clean through the center of its dry chest, dribbling dust. Jack was now able to see the dark shape of his father's body, what was left of it, lying on the ground. The last thought that went through his head as the monster stepped towards him was, "...oh God, all of us, the same way as Billy..."

The creature strolled outside, blinking and licking its fingers. The sliver of the moon made a shallow cup on the horizon. A few hours would have to pass before wings regrew, and the night was young. Two farm trucks sat in the yard. The monster strode to the less flashy of the two; it was likely to be the more reliable vehicle. Keys were in the ignition; things didn't change much in the country. The truck kicked up dust and gravel as it sped out towards the highway.

_End of Chapter 2_


	3. Chapter 3

I've been building a sort of soundtrack to this story as I go, but I didn't get around to listing it with the first two chapters, so here goes: Chapter 1- _Summertime_ by Janis Joplin, _Mustang Sally_ by Wilson Pickett; Ch 2 - _My Way_ by the Sex Pistols, _Sinister Purpose_ by CCR; Ch 3 - _My Thang_ by James Brown (heehee), _Mistral Wind_ by Heart.

Warning: Explicit sex. Minors and whiners, why the !";& are you still reading this?

_Chapter 3_

Helen and Mena sat on the dark porch, talking in hushed voices, as though the darkness was too sacred to speak loudly in. "My creature affected my dreams. I don't know how to describe it. It was... as though his spirit just drifted over into mine. I felt that joy, that hunger, that ...unbelieveable age." Helen fell silent again for a while. "I should try to sleep, that would be a way for me to tell when..."

Mena could see it was useless for her aunt to turn in; Aunt Hel was almost glowing with anticipation. The girl was struggling to stay awake, though, and as the woman talked and the crickets sang, she kept drifting off.

Mena jerked awake. Something had changed suddenly. The crickets were silent, and her aunt was opening the screen door, walking down the steps. That was when Mena saw the dark shape of a man standing in the yard, a few feet from the house. She reached instinctively for the long knife at her side, stood slowly, body tensed for a fight. In the dim starlight, he looked like trouble; he was strangely dressed in a long coat and a battered wide-brimmed hat.

Aunt Hel approached him silently, put one hand on his arm and the other around his shoulder, grasping the long, messy tail of white hair in her fist. Then the man clutched her to him and they were kissing passionately, almost violently. The man's hat was knocked off, he nuzzled her neck; Aunt Hel gasped in obvious pleasure. Mena was frozen, gaping and uncomprehending.

The shadowy man slowly ran a hand up Aunt Hel's front, feeling and squeezing her breast, then the hand drifted up further, suddenly closed on the collar of her shirt and ripped downwards. Aunt Hel gave a little squeal of glee and yanked the coat off one shoulder of her ...what? Mena's mind was a mosh pit of confusion and disbelief. Who the hell was this guy? The man growled audibly, raising hairs on the back of her neck; he was running his face up between her aunt's exposed breasts. The girl watched, fascinated, horrified. Then it got better, or worse.

The man whipped her aunt around so he was pressed against her back, nuzzling her neck, still growling. The look of bliss on her aunt's upturned face was unmistakeable. She ground her hips back into his body, and he tore at her pants frantically. Mena's mouth dropped open as the man thrust himself into Aunt Hel. _Holy** shit**_. They were fucking like dogs right in front of her, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever seen. Aunt Hel was making small cries and moans; the man was grunting and growling. They staggered around the yard, a bent convulsing pornographic lawn ornament. Aunt Hel gasped loudly, breathed out, "aaahh, god..." then cried out as her body arched. The man buried his face in her hair, made a strange strangled moan, then turned his head away and pounded her with renewed fury, shuddered violently as he came.

Mena remembered how to breathe as she stared at the panting couple still bent together in the yard. _This really happened. Right in front of me. Aunt Hel._ Her face felt hot with desire at what she'd just witnessed.

After a moment they straightened, the man running a hand up Aunt Hel's body, making her tremble. "Oh, you are such a sexy beast." She chuckled, looked down. "And still hard on clothes." A low, growly laugh answered. She stepped over and picked up the man's hat, handed it to him. As he put it back on, she said, "I have someone for you to meet." Mena's heart flipped.

A completely naked Aunt Hel walked back up the steps, leading the stranger. She chuckled as she passed the gaping, flushed, wide-eyed Mena, reached to turn the porch light on. The stranger who had just fucked the shit out of Aunt Hel looked like a very mean, **very** old man. But ...somehow not. Then he smiled, and the resemblance crashed away. He was not human. Definitely not. Something shifted into place in her mind, and she realized this was the thing on the wall, the 'Bat out of Hell", her Aunt Hel's Guy. It all made sense, yet she felt like reality had just peeled up and blown away. Until this moment, she hadn't really believed, deep down, that she'd ever see the living, breathing creature, that somehow it must be a joke, or a figment of her aunt's twisted imagination. Mena blinked hard, breathed deeply. "Whoa. This is intense." She jumped as the creature laughed loudly; it was like boulders striking each other.

She realized why she had taken so long to connect the creature her aunt had shown her on the ulu, and they'd both seen nailed to a barn wall, with the ...guy... standing in front of her. He was wearing clothes, a coat and hat anyway, and didn't looked shriveled up and mummified anymore. Also, those huge wings were not in evidence... _Must be hidden under the coat._

Without warning the creature was against her, sniffing her, grasping her arms with powerful hands so she couldn't move away. It smelled her face, her neck, breathing deeply. Something flipped inside her, her heart skipped a beat. Those deadly-looking teeth were near her throat, but she shivered and leaned her head back. The monster growled softly, ...chuckled!

"Smells like you," it said in an incredibly deep and rough voice, as it straightened and looked back at Aunt Hel.

"My sister's daughter, Mena. She's sort of a ...protege" She grabbed a housecoat from the back of a chair, shrugged into it. "She's an eater, too. I think you could teach her a few things..." Aunt Hel smirked, glancing at them both. Mena flushed, her heart pounding. _Does she mean...?_

But the monster stepped back to her aunt, smelled of her deeply, almost... tenderly. After a moment it grumbled, "Eat. Must eat..." Aunt Hel chuckled. "Yes, go. We'll come to the Womb tomorrow." The creature gave its awful leer and then strode back out; Mena heard a muffled whoosh from the yard, then there was nothing but the soft returning crickets.

"So...?" Aunt Hel leaned against a chair, head tilted, smiling at her niece.

"Oh Aunt Hel, you are so right. He is absolutely the perfect guy. Very, very weird, but perfect." She sat down hard. "I think I'm gonna pass out now." The woman laughed; the girl looked at her aunt. "You always were so different from anyone in the family, hell, from anyone else I know. But wow, You've really been hiding just how wild you are, haven't you? I mean..." she rolled her eyes around to the yard.

Helen laughed again, loud and long. "You mean our little reunion?" Mena nodded, smiling dazedly. "He's not inhibited. No, not at all. And I knew you'd get over it."

The girl blew out a breath. "That was hot, Aunt Hel, _**very**_ hot. I didn't know you had it in you!"

Helen smiled, half-closed her eyes. "Oh Maenad, what you don't know..."

* * *

Helen felt wind against her skin, a warm caress. The wind welcomed her, called her home, carried the songs and scents of the land; it was gentle as air and relentless as death. She let it guide her to her desire - warm sweat, pulsing blood, eyes widening, fear lashing out like heat lightning. The hungry earth drank up the spilled blood; red sank down and sprang up again green. The green reached into the wind, leaves and blades of grass uplifted in adoration. The wind laughed, smiled a starry night wide, carried her away like a lover. 

_End Chapter 3_


	4. Chapter 4

Please be warned, gratuitous sex and violence really gets going now. What can I say, my muse is very naughty. Hey... wait, that's not a **muse**! It's a ...aARkhgHNg... _(evil laugh)_

_Chapter 4_

"Mornin', sunshine." Helen greeted her bleary-eyed niece as though she was awake and chipper herself, but Mena knew her aunt was the opposite of a morning person. Still, the smell of fresh coffee, strong and black as night, was worth getting out of bed for. They sat sipping and breathing coffee fumes for a long time; eventually Helen rose and made breakfast. As they plowed into their fried eggs and bacon, she spoke up. "Tell me what you dreamed about last night."

Mena groaned, rubbing her eyes while she chewed. "I dreamed I was driving on endless country highways, and I couldn't find what I was looking for, just kept getting more and more lost. Fuck, what a nightmare... Oh wait, no that was last week," she giggled. "Last night...huhh. I dreamed..." she furrowed her eyebrows, stopped chewing. "I dreamed about... wind... wind that was alive..."

"Yes."

Mena opened her eyes; her aunt was gazing at her intently. "It wasn't a normal dream. It was more... vivid."

Helen nodded slowly.

"...him...?" the girl asked softly.

Helen smiled, flicked an eyebrow up. Then she laid back into her breakfast, humming a tune quietly to herself. Mena recognized it a minute later; it was one her aunt had played often when she babysat - "The Little Man Who Wasn't There".

"Does he have a name?" the girl asked, nursing the last of her coffee.

"No. I guess a name is superfluous when you're the only one."

It was midday before they were dressed and ready to go. Helen had, with a gleam in her eye, advised her niece that they might be gone for a couple of days. Mena noticed an assortment of unusual homemade weapons and a change of clothes spilling from her aunt's carpetbag.

They peeled out of the yard, stereo already cranked up. "Can you remember where the cave is?" Helen shouted over the music; Mena nodded, grinning, and mashed on the gas pedal. Just over an hour later the blue Mustang crunched onto the shoulder. Helen scanned the area, pointed to a clump of trees. "Pull in behind those if you can. Your car will attract unwanted attention if you leave it on the highway. Like other things..." With a little manuevering they got the car out of sight in the undergrowth, and set out towards the cave.

Helen once again led the girl down into the earth, but this time the air smelled less stale, as though it had been moved around and brought back to life. The familiar scents of blood and formaldehyde seasoned their arrival in the main cavern. It was lit again, this time by a halogen spotlight pointed at a wall to diffuse the beam.

"Honey, I'm home!" Helen singsonged. The grey creature looked over from a far wall. It was hanging a newly stuffed body - a young man with a gaping hole in his crotch - in one of the few empty spaces left.

Mena couldn't help staring as they walked towards the creature. It wasn't wearing the coat and hat anymore, and with the clothing had discarded any remaining semblance of being human. The wings - _**wings**, oh my god they're **real **_- were folded tightly against its powerful back. The skin was dark grey, but still somehow looked like living skin, albeit with a rough, bumpy texture. The monster had muscles that looked like business; its whole body suggested unstoppable purpose. As she neared, she noticed other features; the tail of rough white hair at the base of its skull, the bony claws that seemed to wrap around its head. Mena was fascinated, she just stood and gawked, taking in the strange creature.

Helen had set her bag down with a clunk, and was pulling something out. As the creature finished adjusting the body and turned, she held up an old license plate. BEATNGU. The monster laughed loudly, strode over to take the plate, and handed Helen her ulu back.

"Your truck still run?" she asked. It smirked, nodded proudly, then gestured with its chin to the cave entrance. "I'm ready," she answered, turned to Mena. "You wanna go for a ride?"

The girllooked eager but mystified. "Yeah... but... _he has a truck?" _she whispered.

"You'll see."

The creature was pulling on a pair of moth-eaten pants, its long coat, and the tattered hat.

Mena hissed again, _"He can drive?"_

Helen smiled with a pained look. "Yeahh, but not very well.." The girl's eyes widened with horror, and her aunt laughed. "Just kidding!"

They hiked the half-mile to the overgrown clearing where the huge tank of a truck was parked. "Wowww! This is **_his_** truck? Woww!" Mena was in love; she grinned from ear to ear. The creature bolted the plate back on as Helen climbed inside, helping her niece up into the cab. "Best to just stay on the floor until we get to the highway." Helen was already using her carpetbag as a cushion, leaning against the back wall.

The truck was backed down the decayed ruts with practiced ease, and soon they pulled onto pavement. Mena just kept looking back at the mind-boggling creature, now oddly human-like again. But she had **_seen_** it, knew it was just the clothes and the fact that it was driving a truck that cast the illusion. It noticed her staring, grinned and winked at her. She blinked, surprised. _This guy is so ...__incongruous._

A few minutes later the monster spotted something ahead, and urged the truck faster. Mena's eyes widened as she realized the truck was modified, and very well; the sound and power of the engines was like her own car's, but even more bad-ass. Helen touched the girl's arm. "Hang on," she said. They were about to run right into the back of a car, and Mena nervously clutched the dash, bracing for the impact. At the last second the monster slowed and began blaring his deafening klaxon horn. The car zig-zagged back and forth, and the creature bent to the vents, was instantly excited by what it smelled.

It began pumping on the gas pedal, causing the truck to smash repeatedly into the violently weaving car. The driver lost control and the car spun around, blowing out a tire and coming to a stop facing the wrong direction. The creature braked with such haste that the two women were thrown against the dash before falling ungracefully back to the floor. It gave a quick sheepish look, then got out and approached the car. The man inside had gotten out and was standing by the blown-out tire, pulling his hair and screaming creative obscenities. As the monster in disguise approached, the man turned and began ranting. "You fucking psycho son-of-a-fucking-bitch! What the fuck is wrong with y-" At that moment the creature's huge dark hand shot out and closed on the man's throat, lifting him off the ground slightly. The man was dragged whimpering to the back of the truck, and the vehicle rocked slightly for a few minutes as the monster packaged his find.

Soon they were on the road again, and a short time later pulled into a familiar neighborhood of weedy ruins. The abandoned houses and half-crumbled buildings still sat forgotten and sinking into oblivion. The factory, however, had collapsed entirely. A sprawling mound of broken red bricks and a few iron pillars still standing amid the rubble was all that remained. The ramp that led down to the basement was buried under several feet of debris.

"...the bathtub..." Helen sighed. The monster was unfazed, though, it shrugged and turned the truck back to the highway. "Tar Pits?" she asked. Her creature nodded.

It took a more direct route than the last time they had driven there, and they pulled up to the refinery in an hour. Helen noticed a perturbed look on its faceas they pulled further in. It gestured for them to stay at the truck while it went into the rust-stained building. Helen's face lit up when it retured a few minutes later carrying the old Victrola and a stack of 78's. She saw with a smile that her old chalkboard was balanced on top.

Helen took the board; her creature had scratched a few words on it.

NOT SAFE

LEAKING

The monster glanced at the rotting tanks and pipes.

"Well... where to now? The House of Pain?" Mena's head turned at that, she shot an interested look at her aunt. The creature shook its head though, grinning wryly. "Burned." Helen frowned, but her strange friend continued. "Other places..." They climbed back into the truck and set out once more.

Twenty minutes later and a few turns onto increasingly decrepit roads, they arrived at a small institutional building that had obviously been long since abandoned. The remains of yellow paint were peeling and flaking away from the concrete exterior, and few of the tall windows in its blank, cheerless face remained intact. Helen realized what the place was as they walked around the side; she glimpsed the long blackboards on the walls inside. _There is something about a schoolbuilding that just screams "You're not here to have fun!" _But school was out, and from the looks of it, had been out for a very long time.

The creature led them down into a pitch-dark basement from a side hatch. Sure enough, when it lit a few candles, the space bore the signature of her friend's long occupation. A few dozen bodies, preserved and posed on walls and ceilings; projects half-finished on tables; a few small piles of bones and skulls. The walls of the basement were made up of the rough-hewn stones of the foundation, while the ceiling, like the rest of the building, was thick concrete.

"God, this place is like a bomb shelter," Mena commented, strolling around. The grey monster had gone back out, and now returned with arms full of music and the sheet-wrapped man. Helen crowed and began setting up the record player, selected a disc and started it playing.

Mena kneeled to examine the wrapped bundle. The man inside was alive, but not enjoying it at all. Whimpers game from under the stained sheet. She peeled the cloth back, and a hand reached out, desperately clawing and grabbing. The girl leapt back cursing angrily, holding her scratched face.

The creature strolled over, abruptly crouched down beside the flailing arm. As the hand came into range the monster snapped at it, biting the fingers cleanly off. A hoarse scream filled the room. Helen turned the music up louder, then rummaged in her bag, coming up with a machete-like blade. She turned to the thrashing figure, and with a deadly gleam in her eye, brought the blade down, severing the arm from the shoulder. The screams died out. Helen picked up the arm, squeezing the biceps. "Dinner," she said, handing it to Mena. The girl's face was filled with deep awe and dawning mischief.

After it had devoured the rest of the man, the creature left again to hunt, leaving the women to explore the schoolhouse. They found a stairway leading to the main floor, and wandered around, poking into closets and scrawling irreverent slogans on the blackboards. There were only six classrooms, and each had a large potbelly stove. Helen gathered dry wood from the overgrown vicinity and started a fire in one of them, hoping there wasn't a nest clogging the stovepipe. She would eat her meat raw occasionally, but still preferred a nicely grilled steak.

In the late evening the monster returned, grinning from ear to ear, and began unloading its haul. Most were dead, some were half-eaten, but one man was just knocked unconscious. He wore the cheap suit of a traveling salesman. The creature began its feast, sitting on the floor and just tearing each body apart piece by piece. No one noticed when the man awoke.

He looked around in growing horror at the gory nightmare around him. Dismembered corpses, pools of fresh blood, bodies posed on the walls and ceiling, an antique record player warbling cheery music, and a monster, a real fucking live monster gnawing blissfully on a blood-streaked femur. The man crawled to his hands and knees, breath hitching as his brain demanded, _"RUN! GET AWAY!"_ His scream finally broke free as the monster crunched through the knee of the leg in its grasp. He scrambled up and began running wildly.

In his blind panic he couldn't find the exit, but kept running face-first into the petrified bodies on the walls. His shrieks increased in pitch as he floundered around the room. He was brought to a sudden halt when a teenage girl stepped directly in front of him. Her face was calm; this drove the last shred of reason from him. Then she smiled sweetly, and thrust a long knife into his chest. His mouth dropped open; she sneered and jerked the knife up, piercing his heart. Blood poured over her knife and hand for a moment, then the man sank to his knees and toppled dead to the ground.

Mena stood breathing heavily, a hard light in her eyes. She raised the bloodstained knife to her face, ran it slowly along her tongue. She blanked out momentarily, recovered awareness to find the monster standing right in front of her. It was in her face, smelling her; it bent to sniff her throat, flicking its tongue out to taste. Her knees almost buckled, and it grabbed her shoulders to keep her upright. She trembled with excitement, this creature was all masculine strength, and was now stiffening against her belly.

Suddenly cold awareness poured over her. _The monster... wants to... oh my god what do I do?_ She was both extrememly turned on and completely intimidated by it, and she cast a worried look over at her aunt. The woman was smiling as she walked over, there was even a laugh in her eyes. She didn't look angry or jealous at all, but just gently guided the creature's attention onto herself.

"Not yet. She's not ready for you," she said to it, indicating Mena with her eyes. _Like hell I'm not, _thought the girl, but she was relieved all the same. Helen turned to her niece. "Mena, why don't you go upstairs and grill us another couple of steaks..." The flustered girl scowled slightly, but knew it was probably the best idea. She glanced back as she walked towards the stairway, saw the grey monster smiling horribly; with an excited growl, it pounced on Aunt Hel.

The creature pressed itself against the woman's body, huge clawed hands exploring, kneading. She was hurrying to unfasten her pants, finally shuffled out of them; the creature's impatient caresses had already begun tearing holes in her shirt. She started trying to pull it over her head, but when it ripped open more and got stuck she became frustrated. "Oh, fuck it." The monster chuckled lecherously and tore the shirt in two. "You'd like it if I just never wore clothes, wouldn't you?" Helen said with a smirk. The monster narrowed its eyes and smiled, answered by grabbing her ass and lifting her up, grinding her against its groin. She inhaled sharply, threw her legs around its body, and gave a small cry as it penetrated her.

She had waited so long to once again ride that powerful monster's body. It supported her weight as it mashed its hips into her, staggered growling to the wall. Helen was slammed against the bodies posed there; she threw her head back, writhing, and flung her arms out to grab blindly for handholds as the creature ground her against the wall. One roving hand found a hold in the loose stitches of an arm, the other in a wide open mouth.

The huge muscles worked in the creature's back, its tight asscheeks clenching with each measured thrust. She could tell that the monster was fucking with a deliberate intent; as this thought pulled a hot cord through her loins, she moaned, her panting became rapid. Two piercing cries rang through the basement; Aunt Hel wailed out like an angry wildcat as she tensed and tore the stitches in her grasp loose; at the same moment a strangled howl burst from the monster. It threw its head forward, was actually biting one of the bodies behind her as it continued to plunge into her body. With a few final thrusts it groaned and shook from wingtip to toe.

There was no sound but breathing for a few minutes, then the grey beast spat out a crusty chunk with a slightly disgusted look on its face, and lowered the woman to sit on the floor. Helen looked at the arm she'd accidentally torn off, sheepishly turned back to the creature. "Ooops." They sprawled face to face, heads nearly touching; the monster breathed in deeply, as though it had found the perfect scent and was relishing it. It was an oddly tender moment, and Helen knew that the monster had missed her, too.

Helen smiled as the odor of cooking meat began to drift into the room, inhaled deeply. "Ahhh, now that's what smells good to **_me_**." The creature rolled its eyes and made an exasperated face, but helped her up, and she began gathering the remains of her clothes.

She pulled her pants back on and was rummaging in her carpetbag for a shirt. She'd brought a small sewing kit this time, but decided to repair her torn shirt after supper. Helen climbed the stairway, leaving her creature to flay the body Mena had left in a pool of blood.

"Ok, Mena. That just smells too good." The girl was standing with one hand on her hip, the other holding her arkansas toothpick threateningly, as if the sizzling meat might jump off the top of the woodstove and attack. She turned and grinned. "I noticed some wild garlic growing outside, and smashed a little on these. It might be a bit strong, but hey..." She prodded the meat, lifted up an edge to see how it was browning.

Helen put her arm around the girl. "You're a chip off the old block."

_End of Chapter 4_

A/N: Like the factory, the old schoolhouse is a real place. I used to live there, in fact - my driver's license address just said 'Old Schoolhouse, Rollinsville', because no one knew what the address of the building was and everyone knew what it meant. It really was a creepy building, but the stoves weren't potbelly :-(

I won't be posting any more of this story until after The Holiday, and for those of you out there who think I mean Christmas, you aren't allowed to read my stuff any longer. I mean THE holiday, Halloween. Monsters require my full attention until November. Sadly, not **_this_** monster... >:-)

If anyone can think of a better title for my story, please let me know! The smart-ass title right now is just not cutting it.


	5. Chapter 5

WARNING: Explicit sex and violence. No minor, whiners, faint of heart, etc.

A/N: I recently realized that these stories are a collective subconscious backlash at the last few men who've attempted to court me.

_**Chapter 5**_

Mena sat curled in a little alcove she'd discovered on the school's front. It was nestled halfway up the wall between two buttresses, and perfect for stargazing. Warmth oozed from the concrete she crouched on, half-reclining. Tiny bats darted and swooped noiselessly, flickers of darkness against the stars. The crescent moon hung low, ivory-tinted as it neared the horizon. A bright star hung in the sky in line with the moon's concave face. _Artemis... Huntress. _She stetched one arm out and pulled the other up to her ear, miming drawing a bow and arrow.

Her mind wandered. _Twenty-four hours. That's the only distance between who I was yesterday and who I am now. There's no way I can be the same person I was. I can't unsee -** him**. Those teeth. Bodies torn apart. Bright, beautiful blood. Smell of rage and joy... is that what they call bloodlust? No, I **must** be something - changed. Now that I've killed. Now that I've seen._

Sound of footsteps approaching; Aunt Hel and the monster walking side by side down the hill. Mena's heart did a slow turn. Just seeing the creature walk past made her feel like a swooning schoolgirl, crushing on some impossibly perfect and hopelessly unattainable boy. She slapped herself mentally, trying to get a grip on her confused reactions. While not exactly ugly, she still thought the creature was somewhat jarring, kind of hard to look at. Also, after today, she knew how truly scary and deadly he was. And he wanted her.

The strange couple walked quietly and purposefully down a weedy slope, disappeared abruptly into the shadow of the trees. They moved as though two halves of the same person; all day they had shared a silent bond, communicating with looks and small gestures. Mena felt slightly left out, and was pierced by a tiny stab of jealousy as her inner voice whined, _why can't I have something like that?_ To be so well matched that you are two of a mind; it was a concept she'd sneered at before as a sad figment of adult imagination, but now her perspective had changed drastically, and shown her the disturbing truth.

The slowly drifting stars snagged her attention, and the turmoil of her thoughts became hazy. Time slide by effortlessly, marked only by the disappearance of stars behind the rim of the building. The constellations hypnotized her, made cryptic gestures. She wondered if _they_ were seeing this, surely stars didn't usually do this. _I wonder where they went... _A bright green meteorite streaked across the edge of her vision. Her heart raced. _I wish... _

A twig snapped in the woods. Mena opened her eyes, having fallen asleep for a few seconds. It was pitch dark out, and she had to turn her head and watch out of the corners of her eyes, alert for changes between one kind of shadow and another. A dark shape emerged from the trees, walked with a familiar limp towards the schoolbuilding.

"Aunt Hel...?" Mena called out softly.

"...yeah," drifted up from the distance.

The girl waited as her aunt finished the climb, turned, and reclined against the sloping buttress. They gazed at the sky in silence.

"What a - lovely night." Helen breathed, almost sang, as though to herself. Mena was struck by the terrible sincerity in her aunt's low voice. The girl could smell something different; Aunt Hel's hair was wet, her clothes damp, and not with sweat. After another period of quiet contemplation, Helen spoke again. "There's a creek at the bottom of the hill. If you want a real treat, follow it up a ways. Though... you might want to save that until it's light. Those woods are a bit thick... -Ah!" Mena looked over at the soft, sharp exclaimation; Helen was peering off into the distance, eyes glittering.

A shadow came and went over the landscape, approaching, skimming the surface of fields and low thickets. Not until it was almost at the schoolhouse did Mena register what the shadow was; the wide-winged creature, clutching a limp form in each arm. As it flew right up to them its wings made a huge whooshing lunge straight forward; in the same graceful movement they pulled back, folding, closing in against the body.

A frozen afterimage was burned into her mind - wings, wings like she couldn't have imagined; his eyes, reflecting ominous bliss, his mouth... dripping blood. Teeth bared. A wolf after the kill. _...like my tattoo - oh shit, what does it mean? I refuse to be superstitious, but...somehow I don't think coincidence is the name for this. _A tiny droplet of fear ran hesitantly down her spine.

While her mind struggled the creature had gone on down to the basement. Helen moved to follow, saying, "Come on down, if you like."

" 'kay," she called out, forcing her voice to steady. Mena sat back and tried to calm herself. Every time she saw the creature, she was more and more affected. As the monster had flown up she'd almost scrambled away, even while hoping it would dive straight at her. She was both repelled and attracted, enthralled by it like people are drawn to a train wreck, a horrible car accident. _Well, I'll just have to get over it - I think we're going to be here for a while. _She didn't waste any time debating it, swung her legs out of the alcove and walked quickly down to the cellar.

Her aunt and the monster sat on stools at a long workbench. Three kerosene lamps had been lit and hung over the space, giving it an oddly old-fashioned ambiance. Mena stood still for a moment, taking her bearings. _Okay, not freaking out, things seem fairly normal. Well, as normal as subterranian lairs get._ The creature was just the creature again, the one who earlier today was wearing clothes, driving, carrying an antique record player. Helen turned her head and saw the girl standing uncertainly, motioned her over to sit and watch.

The grey monster was carving a section of bone into something; the bone looked quite fresh. Mena leaned around her aunt to watch. It took only a few seconds for her to forget the peculiarity of the moment, and her own nervousness. Seeing the creature at work was a lesson in itself; like hearing a virtuoso play, there was no mistaking the talent. It carved its imagination into the bone with a will as indomitable as a mountain; even more so, because the creature's will would not crumble away after millenia. Tiny pale curls fell soundlessly to the floor.

* * *

The creature stayed at its table for hours, absorbed in a succession of projects. Helen had crashed for the night on a huge pile of discarded clothing, torn from victims. Mena made herself comfortable across the room, still not entirely at ease being left 'alone' with the monster, and watched quietly as it carved, humming to itself. After a time it would inspect its work, seem satisfied, and move on to a different task. With unlimited resources of energy, the creature didn't get sleepy, or bored, or frustrated. Sometimes it even paused in its fixated labors and hastily scratched or carved in the tabletop, as though driven to unleash all of its ideas immediately.

She was exhausted, her overworked mind demanded that she give up and sleep, but some jittery current continued to flow through her. It was as though the creature's nervous energy was spilling over and she was soaking it up. The sharp smell of blood and the silhouette of a winged monster weren't helping her relax, either. _Need some privacy of mind... _she thought groggily, and made her way back outside, to her stargazer's nest. As soon as she sat back and let the dark and bright sky embrace her, her eyes became heavy. Mena's body finally let itself relax, and her mind waved farewell, already on the journey of dreams.

_Teethmarks on a bone. Wingbeat, leathery flap. A bright green meterorite flash, too bright to see, too enduring to be real. Blood spurting across the room, pooling on the floor at her feet. Smile - so many teeth - (don't scream until you see the whites of their teeth). What sharp teeth you have, Grandmother. Why Grandmother, you're a wolf! ...wolf, grinning._

An unnatural sound awakened her; a soft movement of air. She remained still, but scanned the starlit darkness. It was several slow-breathing minutes before anything registered to her wide-open eyes. In a neighboring field, a dark shadow moving low over the ground. It moved as silently and deftly as an owl, skimming the tall grass, then wheeling and passing back over the fallow ground.

Mena watched, entraced, as the shadow gracefully concluded its slow sweeps and returned to the schoolbuilding, descending and landing with ease, even with arms full of ...hay? The clean smell of dry grass wafted towards her, and she realized what she'd been seeing; the monster gathering grass, arms downstretched into the field. It hurried down to the basement and some project that couldn't wait. Her curiosity was sparked, but her weariness threw wet towels at it. In half a minute she was asleep again.

* * *

Though sun wasn't up, a grey, still twilight had awakened a dissonant chorus of birds. Mena gave up trying to block out the racket, began muttering, "shut up... assholes... go away..." After a time, knowing there'd be no more sleep, she cast a final deadly glare at the evilly cheerful troublemakers, and stumbled down to the cellar.

A huge pile of dry grass filled a corner. The monster was stuffing a handful of the aromatic hay into a limp sack of some kind... She looked again, and saw with a start that the sack was a human skin, _sans_ body. _Looks really weird and ...uncomfortable. _The creature looked up, around to meet her gaze. It gave that disturbing grin. She almost giggled, swallowed it, making a strangled noise. _He just looks so psycho, so happy! Like an H.R.Giger version of Betty Crocker, happily stuffing a turkey for dinner. _The monster returned to its work, and Mena blinked. The crazy imagery was gone, the grey form of the creature a natural, familiar shape again. It had a way of blending into its environment, as long as it wasn't looking at you. She sat down on her heels against a pillar, watching the process, watching the monster's movements. It was patient, meticulous.

Mena realized her feet were asleep. She began to stand, quickly discovering that her lower legs were numb and useless, too. Stumbling over to the pile of grass as pins and needles ate at her muscles and nerves, she sat down heavily. "OW!" She stood back up twice as fast, a long thorn stuck in her jeans. The monster was shaking with silent laughter as she felt gingerly in the hay, found the cane, pulled it free. A blackberry cane, heavy with early ripe berries. Suddenly her humiliated anger dissolved, and she chuckled, looked over at the monster again. It was watching her out of the corner of its eyes, smirking impishly. Mena felt around in the grass again, pulled out several more canes before she was satisfied that the pile was thorn-free. "You. Aunt Hel said you were something of a prankster." "...or a **_sicko_**..." she said under her breath.

A decent pile of blackberry canes now lay before her, and seeing them all together, she realized what a nice crop of berries there was. The urge to just start picking and eating was tempered when she looked over at her aunt, still asleep. _Well, I can wait awhile, and then we'll have breakfast together._ She made a cozy nest in the de-thorned hay and reclined in fragrant tendrils. Her eyes were inexorably drawn back to the creature, still absorbed in sewing and stuffing, bubbly and domestic in its Ed Gein way.

* * *

Bright sunlight eventually crept through the open basement doors, and the room became warmer. A groan emerged from the multicolored pile where Helen lay; minutes later she sat up and scowled, then opened her eyes and blinked slowly. As her eyes focussed and she saw her creature putting the final touches on a stuffed body, she beamed.

Mena came over, carefully holding a thorny branch. "Hungry?" Helen got a closer look, realized what they were. She squealed with glee, glanced up at the girl. "You're an angel! Where'd you find them?" The girl sat, began picking and eating. "Not me. Him." She indicated the monster with her head. "I think he accidentally-on-purpose brought them in with a very cushy pile of hay..." The wry tone of the girl's voice told Helen that the creature had played a little prank.

"Well, didn't I tell you? Some things are worth a little pain."

Mena laughed through a purple mouthful. "Let's see **you** go sit on them, then!"

When it had finished posing its new display, the creature found the chalkboard and came to crouch near Helen. Mena stared, fascinated, as it clumsily scrawled out a message.

GOINGTO FIND TOOLS

COMING?

Helen stood and stretched, glanced over at the girl. "Shall we?" Mena nodded rapidly. Excitement, adventure, and really wild things... whatever happened around this weird grey guy, it was guaranteed to be the opposite of boring. The creature had dressed in its shabby disguise again, and walked with a jaunty air up to the surface.

Once again they piled into the rusty old truck and bounced back to the highway. The creature seemed to have a specific destination in mind, and mashed a booted foot down on the gas pedal, sending the truck barreling down the road. Mena felt the easy roar of the engine, wondered about this creature's seemingly endless supply of practical knowledge and hobbies. "You might like my car. It's souped-up a bit, too." Her heart did a skip as the monster glanced over. Helen studied them both for a moment. "Let's swing by later, Mena and I'll get her car. I can remember how to get back to the schoolhouse." The creature nodded, then began whistling a tune absently. Mena bit her lip to keep from giggling.

They arrived at an industrial complex on the forgotten outskirts of a once-thriving town. Some business still struggled on now, but many of the warehouses were obviously unused. The creature rolled the truck slowly between the rows of sad buildings, came to a stop in front of a rust-stained garage door that read 'P RTS & ERV CE - Au h riz d P rs nnel Onl '; some of the letters had peeled away to leave dirty silhouettes. There was a heavy chain and two padlocks around the bar that held the door in place. The monster took the chain in one hand, slowly twisted the heavy links until they squealed and groaned, then broke apart with a series of dull clunks. Blood drained from Mena's face as it hit her how little effort it had taken.

Inside the warehouse was dark, greasy-smelling, and crowded with leftover machinery. Helen and Mena poked around in the daylit area near the door, searching for anything useful or interesting. A metallic screech echoed from across the dark space; seconds later, heavy footsteps approached from the shadows. The monster had a large machine cradled in its arms; a machining lathe and grinder. The sheered-off bolts that once held it to the floor now dangled useless from their brackets. Helen nodded in approval; this meant some serious weapon-making could be in the near future. She opened the back door of the truck, then stepped aside so the creature could load its find. It gently set the lathe down; the back axle's springs groaned loudly in protest as the whole rear end of the truck sank several inches. Mena peeked inside, and was frozen at the sight of the bizarre armory within. "Whoa, nellie..." Tenatively looking over the lethal collection, she had the sensation of being a pet chicken, seeing the chopping block across the yard and finally realizing what it was for.

The monster returned to the shadows, coming back shortly with a large bundle of tools under one arm. A toothy smile floated back towards the doors, disembodied by the darkness before the rest of the creature's form came striding into the light. _Cheshire cat_, thought Mena.

The monster drove more carefully but just as fast, as it continued to where Mena's car was hidden. Helen spoke briefly with the creature, then the truck pulled away to disappear in the distance. "Let's swing by my house," she said, giving Mena a thoughtful look. "We can grab lunch, relax a bit." The girl backed her car out of its leafy cover and sprayed dirt and rocks in an arc, squealing back onto the pavement.

* * *

The fan made a creaky circuit back and forth, the only movement in the still afternoon. After a huge lunch the porch had called out to them, tempting with its cushy chairs and the only breeze to be found. Mena lay sprawled in sated comfort, voiced question that had been nagging at her mind all day. "How did he know what was in that warehouse? It didn't look like a guess that the lathe and stuff were in there."

"Probably smelled it."

Mena looked over at her aunt, but it didn't seem to be a joke.

"He can smell _everything_." Helen leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees. "He likes your smell."

Mena swallowed. Her ears began to burn. _Is she going to tell me to stay clear of him? Shit, I screwed up my visit already. She didn't look mad last night, but maybe she **is**..._

"No, it's ok." Aunt Hel seemed to have read her thoughts. "I'm glad of it. If he didn't like you, you'd be dead."

The girl attempted to smile in response. _Well, that's comforting, heh_...

"And you like him, too, don't you?"

Mena smiled, couldn't hide the blush from her face, or the lecherous curl of her mouth. "Well, how could I not?"

"I just want to caution you what you're in for." Aunt Hel seemed to be completely serious, though she was grinning mischievously. "Once you've had him you'll be spoiled. Do you understand what I'm saying?" The girl blinked, unsure. Helen continued, "Why do you think I never even took a lover? I tried a couple of men over the years, but they just pale in comparison." She trembled faintly for a moment, smiled ever so slightly. "No, they just wouldn't do. They're so fucking fragile, and they invariably want a mommy..." she muttered, sneering.

Mena chewed on her lip, wanting to ask a thousand questions, but this was a birds and bees talk that she never could have imagined. She was being encouraged to boink her Aunt Hel's 'man', who wasn't actually a man, and who would apparently leave her a permanent fangirl. In her flustered confusion, one question dropped out like a Lotto ball. "Is he safe?"

Helen laughed so hard she almost fell out of her chair. "Safe... hmm." She recovered her breath and wiped the tears from her eyes, then pulled her shirtsleeve up over the shoulder. There on the round outer curve was a pair of ragged bite scars. The tooth pattern was disturbingly familiar. The woman lowered her sleeve, pulled up her shorts to show the more recent deep scratches and gouges, scabbing over from the night before. "Well, I'm pretty sure he really tries not to do any permanent damage. He bites, involuntarily I think."

Mena tried to hide the shock from her face. This hadn't even occurred to her as a possibility, but after all, he **was** a monster... She tried to rephrase her question. "Um, ok, but I actually meant ...safe, as in - **_safe_**..."

"Ohhhh!" Helen chuckled. "You mean, could you get preggers, or monster disease or something like that?"

The girl nodded sheepishly; it did sound pretty stupid, but she didn't want to take chances.

"You have nothing to worry about, he's not a breeder. Even if he got some nuts, I don't think it could happen..." _Huhh? _Mena thought, but her aunt was going on. "I'm not sure if I can explain..., but you'll understand later." Helen looked off into the distance, daydreaming. She sighed deeply, then turned back to the girl. "And you won't want to wear any clothes that you actually _like_ around him... he, uh, doesn't do undressing very well. Or shall we say, he does it too well. I've just gotten used to sewing them back together."

A flash of a clawed hand ripping fabric from her body flickered through Mena's imagination, making her heart race.

* * *

They returned to the schoolhouse in the late afternoon, after packing a few extra things. Mena had the strange feeling she was preparing for a big date, the date of a lifetime, but one that possibly could leave her scarred, literally and/or figuratively. She didn't particularly relish the thought of being ruined for all others at the age of eighteen. _To be unsatisfied with anyone else for the rest of my life, that would suck. Especially when he won't be around for a couple of decades. Then again... someone who can do that to you... it's too irresistable to pass up. And who the hell would ever be able to satisfy me anyway? I've already suspected I'll have a hard time finding my rival._

The monster had unloaded its new machine and was busy grinding a long blade. Sparks flew in an orange jet, and the noise was deafening. Helen inspected some of the new tools with interest, shouted to make herself heard. "Do you know how to make your own knives?" The girl shook her head. Helen set the tools back down, took her niece's arm to guide her back up, outside. "I'll show you how later. For now, I thought you might like to see that surprise I mentioned last night, hmm?"

Mena was confused for a moment, thought back. _A creek, ...treat uphill_. "Yeah!" She brought a change of clothes at Helen's suggestion, and they set off down the hill to the woods.

* * *

Mena strolled up the weedy hill at twilight, deliciously relaxed. She ran fingers through her still-wet hair, wondered if the smell of sunlit spring water would remain after it dried. Aunt Hel had shown her a jewel in the wilderness; a tiny pool of clear blue-green glass, hidden among cattails and willows. Lounging in that cool water was like visiting Eden, but as the sun had sunk low, she had finally pulled herself out, dressing in clean clothes. A pair of durable hiking shorts; an Elly May shirt, frayed but comfortable; her boots and the little boot knife. All her other weaponry was neatly tied up inside the bundle of dirty clothes.

She noticed that the monster's truck was now parked alongside her Mustang, and both hoods were up. A combination of pride and possessiveness rolled through her; she was pleased that the monster was interested in her car, and hoped it wasn't messing with anything at the same time. Mena descended the steps into the basement, looking around to see if there was anything new and interesting as she dropped her bundle by the wall. A single kerosene lantern was burning, casting dim yellow light on the two body-sized shapes lying still. A few feet away, another body, partially unwrapped from a crusty canvas tarp, sitting up, holding his head. _A live one!_ She stopped to watch the man, not ready to be seen yet, and wondered absently where the others were.

The man was wearing dark blue coveralls, and stank of brake fluid. She could read the faded lettering on his back - Charlie's Garage and Towing Service. "...fffuck... gotta be shittin' me..." the man mumbled, rubbing his forehead with a bloody hand. Finally waking enough to drag open his eyes, he realized he was not in his garage, slowly raised his head. Several seconds later his disoriented mind registered what his eyes were seeing. A carny display of freakish bodies, some homicidal hillbilly's secret hobby. "Fuckin' **_Christ!_**" his voice broke into a falsetto shout, and he leapt up, stumbling back as his feet caught in the canvas around his legs. The man's dirty blond hair stuck out in unlikely directions, his head jerked back and forth, spilling new vistas of the chamber of horrors into his bugged-out eyes. He whimpered; it sounded like a girlish giggle.

Mena couldn't help it, and giggled herself, stifling it too late. The man's head snapped around, his eyes locked onto her. The irreversible intensity of his stare unnerved her. He looked at her for half a minute, as though trying to work out if she was real and who she was, then stomped over to her, his face changing to anger and disbelief.

She read the embroidered oval sewn to the front of his coveralls, smiled at the man. "What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a swimming pool?"

The man gaped stupidly, his stubbly chin hanging open, eyebrows drawn together.

"Bob!" Mena shouted. Bob jumped slightly. He didn't seem to appreciate the joke, and his mouth twisted unpleasantly like an angry snake, giving the girl her only warning. She began to raise her arm just as Bob threw his fist out. The blow was deflected, but still struck her in the side of the head.

Now anger surged through Mena's blood, and a warning frost of fear. _This 'Bob' is panicking, and dangerous._ She tried to reach for her boot knife before he struck out again. Her hand was just closing on it as he threw himself at her, knocking her to the ground. The little knife fell from her grasp at the impact, skittered away a couple of feet. Bob was trying to put his hands around her throat, managed to grip her neck and bounce her head against the hard floor once. She fought to grab hold of his wrists, move them away. One of the hands loosened, slid down to roughly grab her breast.

Rage made the room quake in her vision, and an icy flood of strength poured into her. She clamped a hand down on each of his wrists, digging her fingernails in. Mena swung the man off balance and let him hit the floor hard, then grabbed her boot knife and kneeled on his diaphragm. She lowered her snarling face to his gasping one, holding her knife snugly against his throat, her other hand winding into his hair, getting a secure grip.

"You don't dare, bitch..." he wheezed out, and tried to grope her again, crudely clutching at her shirt, ripping it.

The wave of fury swept up, moving her muscles; she pressed the knife into resisting flesh. So much blood; his gurgling screams... all floated away behind a dark fog. Her body seemed to have moved off into the distance, slowly it returned to her.

Mena was straddling the mostly dead man, breathing deeply, her hands and face splashed with blood. She suspected from the tingling in her extremities that she'd blacked out for a few seconds. Tremors shook her body, and she seemed to be running on endorphins, felt almost giddy. Her nerves were amped up to eleven. She felt a breath in her hair. Turned her eyes - the creature, leaning over her.

It was too much for her subconscious mind; she was under siege from all sides. Her knife lashed out before she could stop herself, gashing the monster across the chest. Horrified at what she'd done, she fell back and began to squirm away. Black fluid seeped out as the creature looked up in surprise. It easily overtook her and pinned her in place with its limbs, lowered its head to smell her again.

Her lips were numb, her heart pounding. _Oh shit, I've done it now._ One of those huge clawed hands trailed over her collarbone, down her sternum. She expected to feel piercing, tearing pain, sure that any second the claws would plunge into her ribcage. Her crosswired nerves, however, felt the nails gently grazing her skin, and she shuddered with pleasure. The hand stopped for a second; the creature inhaled deeply, then retraced the path over her collarbone and chest. This time she did not anticipate agonizing death, and feeling the touch from her teeth to her groin, she writhed. As she moved, her thigh nudged the monster's hardening organ.

A sudden cold shock swept over her as reality slammed home. She could hear and see sharply. Grey mottled flesh hovered over her, caging her with its limbs. Mena was angry and terrified; didn't like being restrained. Over its shoulder, wings twitched. Her breath caught as the creature's touch found a sensitive hollow, then it gave a shuddering sigh, and the hand that had teased her skin made a hook, popped the buttons of her shirt off in quick succession. The monster seemed fascinated, returned to caressing and probing. Every few seconds it would touch some delicate spot and she would jerk; it carefully repeated the touch a few times before moving on. Mena had the odd sensation that it was _learning_.

She couldn't avoid touching the strange grey skin any longer. She wanted to push the creature off her, at least get in a less intimidating position. One arm was unconfined and she raised it slowly, as if in a dream. The body was real, solid... and didn't feel remotely like human skin. As she ran her fingertips over the creature's wrinkly neck, her palm over its muscled, bumpy shoulder, the flesh reacted to her touch, moving beneath the skin. Goosebumps covered her entire body and she shivered, suddenly needed to touch that skin with as much of her own as possible.

Mena began yanking at her shorts, trying to get the button open. The creature saw her struggling, reached down it big bony hand. "No, don't..." she muttered, then realized it had gone still, was staring at her. She met its eyes; its look was predatory, ...deadly. It took the shorts in its grasp, torn them slowly away, holding her gaze. The message was very clear. She couldn't look away from its face, didn't dare move. _Not safe, not safe at all..._

The monster broke its stare and resumed exploring her body. It moved down slightly, pausing to rip her bra away, and licked tenatively at her breast. She jumped, felt the breath moving. The tongue probed again, nearer her nipple, and she gasped silently. Mena groped for the monster's head, palm settling gently against its bony scalp to push it towards her nipple. A peculiar movement of the skin under her hand - it _writhed_ - then the monster's exploring mouth closed on her tender flesh and her body was electrified.

Every nerve in her body felt attached to that one small point, and was stroked at whimsy by the mouth, the tongue, the lips. The creature was breathing deeply, grasping her torso in both hands now, still straddling her body. The sensation of its very-hard cock twitching against her leg made her hips buck. It raised its head, a slow, crazy, dazed smile spreading. Mena felt the creature shift its weight quickly, press a knee between hers, then both knees. The grey monster sat up, kneeling, and pulled her hips up onto its lap, held her down with a firm hand. It pressed its throbbing shaft between her legs, rubbed the length of it up and down, spreading her slick moisture in the effort to get inside. Then the creature arched its back, and she had only a half second to think what was happening; then it was inside her, pushing into her with a steady and indomitable strength. The pleasure almost wiped out all thought, and she slowly raised her eyes to its face. It stared down at her with undiluted hunger as it drove itself deeply into her body.

Fear trickled over her scalp even as she moaned and her body twitched. Always before, she had been in control of any situation, the one who called the shots during sex. The shreds of her mind were aghast; she was completely at the mercy of this grey beast who was fucking her, not just getting off on her like most others had, but paying such undivided attention to her body's reactions that it practically **_owned_** her. The word 'possessed' floated across her mind's eye. _I'd do anything, **anything** it wants..._

The monster clutched at her, caressed her, goaded her. Its low growls and whines were lost in the rush of orgasm that crashed into her, leaving her gasping in a grey velvet haze. Mena's body thrashed and clenched against the monster's heaving form like a bug impaled on a pin.

She blinked hard, clearing her vision. The creature was hovering in her face, still staring at her. Dark fluid dripped from its mouth, she vaguely wondered why. It breathed deeply at her, nostrils flaring, chest filling and emptying. _Aunt Hel... she tried to warn me. I was so naive... how could I have understood? _She couldn't tear her eyes from the monster's gaze; she wanted that ravenous look always.

* * *

Helen walked wearily down the basement steps. The vehicle juggling had meant a little walk for her, and it had turned out to be farther than her aching hip cared to go. The last mile had been very slow and uncomfortable. _Hope there's something to eat_...

A small dark form lay huddled on the floor, shivering and twitching. _Shit, shit, shit_. "Mena?" No response. She bent down to examine the girl. The monster's ragged coat was thrown over her. Helen looked up. The creature was sitting on its heels, consuming a body a few feet away. She turned back to Mena, pulled the coat away, gasped when she saw how much blood there was. It covered her face and lower arms, but there was no sign of injury. The girl had her boots on, and the shirt sort-of on, but was naked otherwise. Helen tilted her head sideways, realized her niece was twitching with... laughter. Her eyes were half-closed, unfocussed. Helen covered her niece again, looked back at the creature. "What happened to her?"

It shrugged, blinked innocently. Helen raised an eyebrow. The monster saw that she actually wanted an answer, looked around, found the chalkboard plank.

WE MATED A FEW TIMES  
THEN SHE BECAME CONFUSED

Helen put a hand over her mouth, pensive for a moment. The creature's definition of **_'few'_**... "A few? How many times?"

It responded unabashed, scrawling on the board.

14 TIMES

Helen covered her face with her hand, and took a deep breath. "I said go easy on her, not fuck her senseless." The monster made an innocent face, wrote again.

I DID GO EASY ON HER

- then pointed to '14 TIMES'.

Helen groaned. "You really are very naughty." The creature answered with its wide, mischievous grin. She shivered; that look was enough to make her feel touched in secret places. The dark monster rose, strode over slowly to her like a bull with its head slightly lowered, its eyes fixed on hers. It grabbed her arms, pushed her into the shadows. "...very, very naughty..."

_End of Chapter 5_

* * *

Well, I know it was incredibly long, but hey, it's just going to keep getting longer, so why not. PLEASE review.__

How could this story get any better? A Contest! Can you spot the following obscure references in this chapter? Beverly Hillbillies, A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, This Is Spinal Tap. If you find them, email me and you win a big CASH prize! Ok, no, not really, but I'll think you're cool, and that's better than any amount of money, right?


	6. Chapter 6

__

**The Acolyte** (aka The Other Other Half)

A/N: Yes, that is the new title to this story, which badly needed one. An acolyte is a follower, a protege, a trainee; it carries religious connotations. Etymology: from Middle Greek _akolouthos, _from Greek, 'following', from _a-, ha- _'together' (akin to Greek _homos _'same') + _keleuthos _'path'

This will become clear later on.

Sorry this is long in coming. I had it written a couple weeks ago, but it's -4 degrees outside and I can't type it up with cold, stiff fingers.

Warning: Long FLASHBACKS, and, er... no sex and very little violence. I know, so sad.

**Chapter 6**

Mena took in a long breath, came fully awake. A dim blue light filtered down into the basement. She was remotely surprised; usually she awoke very disoriented when she slept in strange places, but this time she had known exactly where she was the moment she woke. _And a clear head, too._ The logic clicked over. _This is the first day of the rest of your life. Your real life_.

She sat up, wincing from the variety of scrapes and bruises that adorned her body. The monster's big, dirty coat had been her cover for the night, and she laid it aside carefully, as though it were made of silk. Mena pulled forward the blood-stiff remains of her shirt, which was the only thing she was wearing apart from her boots. The shirt was shy all of its buttons now, but she was undeterred, and tied the lower corners together at her midriff.

Helen was curled up on her pile of clothing, mouth slightly open. Mena crept over softly and began rifling through some of the garments at the edge, gently pulled out a pair of shorts. She held them up to herself, judging their fit. They'd be a bit loose, but otherwise wearable. The girl snuck back towards the entrance, stepped into the shorts, and grabbed the bundle containing her personal armory. _Soon to grow_, she thought with a determined little smile.

Outside the air was cool, still, and moist. A slight mist lay on the ground, just hazing the landscape. Crickets chirped mournfully, soon to be displaced by birdsong. Mena strolled leisurely to her car; its hood was down, the creature's truck was gone. Her lungs filled slowly, deeply, and she just as calmly let out the breath. "A good day to die," she whispered to the crickets, as though letting them in on the best secret ever, one too good to contain. The joy was building in her heart, the joy of an epiphany that she was beginning to understand. All that went before, she could let it go. What was necessary now, was a death.

Knives and gun strapped on, Mena climbed into her Mustang. It smelled familiar inside, like coffee and gasoline and her own sweat. She started it up, savoring the deep rumble and throb for the last time, and caressed the steering wheel lovingly for a minute. Then she gripped the shift knob - her magic wand - and with a sneer of satisfaction roared away.

A remembered flash of landscape had surfaced in her mind, seen for a brief second two days earlier. A peculiar gouge in the mostly flat terrain, visible for a moment to anyone looking in the right direction as they went down the lonely highway. She knew what it was; a steep, deep cut in the earth, wide enough for a set of railroad tracks. Rather than go around a wide rise of ground, the line had been cut right through. Mena had always been curious about such places; they were redundant these days, since most train lines were out of business. A lonely, abandoned channel, unnoticed by the modern world, leading straight to nowhere, a lost destination. Like ley lines, fossil tracks of former power_. And I shall make my sacrifice upon it_. She pictured the route they had followed before, threaded herself back along the blank, unadorned roads.

The air was becoming pale and warm by the time she reached the stretch where the cut was hidden. Slowing down, she peered sharply at the passing landscape, watching for the dagger-shaped glimpse of sky that betrayed the cut. It flashed in her vision, a tiny spark in the brightening horizon. Her heart thrummed for a moment, and she found a place to turn off the highway into the grassland. No fence barred her way, though it wouldn't have even slowed her down. Mena kept her eyes locked on the gash in the earth. To lose it now meant finding it again by suddenly dropping into it.

The lip of the cut came into view as she drew closer. The soil was shallow; underneath was layer after layer of limestone and shale. Along the walls of the channel ran regular vertical scars, like the clawmarks of some vengeful dragon trying to scrabble its way out of the chasm; the shafts drilled into soft stone for explosives.

The Mustang was now a dozen feet from the edge of the sharp drop. Mena put it in neutral and set the emergency brake. She dug through her console pile of cd's, picked one out with a half-smile and pushed it into the stereo. The pounding music burst to life; she cranked it up further, then popped the hood and climbed out.

The sun broke over the horizon, gilding the shiny blue car. Mena squinted in sudden discomfort. The golden sliver of sun seemed much brighter than it ought. She raised the hood, her eyes locating the gas line quickly, and unsheathed her long knife, slipped it under the rubber tube without hesitation. A hard, quick pull, and she leapt aside as gas began to sputter out.

Around the door, the emergency brake released. She leaned on the doorframe for a few seconds, until the car began to creep forward, then roll in earnest. Mena passed through the thick cloud of gasoline fumes, then stepped back, away from the car. By the time it reached the dropoff it had enough momentum to push more than just the front wheels over, and the Mustang slid over the edge, back end rotating out of sight.

The music became rapidly fainter and then was interrupted by a satisfying crash, a brief symphony of metallic rending and tearing, glass shattering from all windows in unison, tires bursting as they were impaled on steel body.

A respectful silence followed, then an encore began building; a ticking, hissing, becoming threatening and angry, then the eardrum-tearing roar of an explosion. A bubble of black-orange flame rolled up from the ravine.

Mena walked carefully to the lip of the cut. The misshapen and burning remains of her car lay askew on weedy tracks. No one would find this for a while, and when they did, they'd know: Mena was dead.

_It feels good to die_, she thought with curious delight. Mena lowered her sore body to the scruffy grass, lay down at the edge on her stomach, arms crossed under her chin so her gaze could rest on the burning wreckage of her old life. _All of that, gone. Good riddance_.

She let it all come back, a funeral procession welcome to march through her mind, and away to its grave.

* * *

As a little girl, she had noticed how unhappy people were, how preoccupied with trivial problems and material vanities. Few of them even noticed the smell of fresh water; the lonely color of sunrises; the vast ocean of the universe that rolled above their heads every night. They clung to civilization as though it could save them. She thought they were so shallow, so useless, and vowed never to become like that. _Know thine enemy_ - and in knowing, gain the strength to resist it. 

One person was unlike the sad, stunted masses, the one whose contrast to their feebleness was what had thrown it into such sharp relief as to be noticeable to a young girl. Her mother's sister, her Aunt Helen. She lived in a small town in the country, an couple of hours from the city where Mena's home was. To outward appearances, Aunt Helen lived a life enough like her neighbors' to blend in. A small but neat house; a huge yard with big old trees crowding it, turning it into a dark forest where talking wolves and shy unicorns might be found. A job at the library to fit the ridiculously outdated 'quiet spinster librarian' image.

Mena's earliest memories were of Aunt Hel, speaking to her as though she were a rational being instead of a baby. She loved her aunt for that, and subconsciously strove to live up to Aunt Hel's regard, to use her mind and her talents to the fullest.

They had gone on forest walks together, the woman pointing out useful plants, animal tracks, seasonal changes, signs of water. The woman had a pet name for her niece: Menad. "You're my little wild girl of the woods," she'd say with a proud, wide smile. Aunt Hel had gently guided Mena along a separate branch of learning, one that most of her classmates, and even her teachers, she quickly discovered, had no concept of. It was the knowledge of how to live, strong and independent, able and unafraid.

When she was eight years old, Mena had wandered into the den late one night, unseen by her parents, and had watched the movie playing on television. An assault and rape was depicted, and Mena had become angry and confused, still not entirely sure of television's ficticious qualities.

"Why didn't she just kill him!" she burst out, startling her parents out of their easy chairs.

They had attempted to soothe her, told her it was just a show, and one she wasn't supposed to have seen. Mena was insistent, wouldn't take any shushing. "But why didn't she just grab one of those pencils and stab him in the eye?" Her parents were horrified. They spent the next hour making her promise to never, **_never_** talk like that again, to anyone. She was utterly flabbergasted.

As soon as her next visit with her aunt, she broke that promise, eagerly and solemnly describing the event and the ensuing chastisement. If anyone would tell her the truth about some strange taboo she'd unwittingly broken, Aunt Hel would, and the girl could ask without fear of reprisal.

Aunt Hel's face seemed to squirm around for a few seconds before the smile worked its way out. She explained in simple but precise words how most people act out their lives as victims waiting to happen, only strong as a colony organism. If separated from the group, or faced with some unthinkable threat from the outside, they find some kind of righteous satisfaction when they prove themselves to be the helpless, delicate tragedy they fantasized. "People love to be frail, to be a low place in the ground where pity will gather." The notion of being strong enough to resist this inevitable doom was seen as laughable, somehow sacreligious - (if our great civilization can't save us, how dare you imagine that you can save yourself?). This abhorrence of self-reliance was what had so disturbed her parents; the notion that violence could be met and dealt with by violence, rather than being accepted as fate.

She said that this fatalistic view was not only the norm, but any variation from it was seen as mental illness. "And you're too young to be fed to the shrinks." Aunt Helen advised the wonder-wide-eyed girl to refrain from saying things that violated this unspoken 'pact of ignorance', and to learn by imagining how an able person could face and resolve various 'tragic' situations. "You don't have to keep it to yourself, you can tell **_me_** about your thoughts, but best not to mention it to others. They won't understand the practical value."

From then on, Mena watched everything that went on around her, keeping a careful eye out for what her aunt had called "the herd shuffle". She was the quiet, serious girl with big brown eyes, who stood in a corner listening to all the conversations in the room at once. She noticed the hilarious resemblance to territorial animal behavior that comprised most social interactions. Aunt Hel had chuckled, nodding. "Humans are animals...whether anyone likes to admit it or not, we're just animals with opposeable thumbs and an overblown sense of self-importance." Then she had become more serious, a hard look glowing in her eyes. "The most important thing to remember, Menad, the thing that almost no one believes, is that you should **_never_** assume you're at the top of the food chain. People allow themselves to be weak because they think that even when weak, they are stronger and smarter than anything else. It's a foolish and deadly mistake."

Over time, the girl learned to read the signs of people's hidden languages - the words that were implied underneath the spoken phrases; their body language; the subtle or blatant actions that were meant to say this or that without having said it clearly, openly. How a man behaves when he is nervous and doesn't want it to show; how a woman who is angry but doesn't dare act on it becomes a sharp, terrifyingly silent being. Aunt Hel expanded on Mena's descriptions, and helped her understand the motives, hidden to most, behind the often illogical behavior.

Mena idolized her Aunt Hel. The woman was so easily strong, like a lioness in repose. She didn't worry, or whine, or cry doom like most people. _It's the **only** way to be alive - I want to be just like Aunt Hel_. Until she was eleven years old, she spent weekends with her best and only friend. She was too young and aloof to realize how bizarre it was.

Then her mother and Aunt Hel had argued over something, and Mena wasn't allowed to spend as much time over there. At first she was only driven out to the house in the country once a month, then it became every few months, or on holidays.

Mena was heartbroken. Her strong friend, her ideal, her 'better mother'; now a brief, rare visit, often sullied by the suspicious eyes of parents. Aunt Hel made the best of it, made Mena promise to practice the things she'd been learning, not to let Them get her down.

For a few years she held to her 'studies', quietly watching the fuss of the world from the outside, as though it were a bacterial colony under a microscope. It was her nature to be quiet and observant, and she didn't make friends well. After a time, the lure and hum of the kaleidescope world began to mesmerize her, drawing her away from her discipline towards the friendly, numbing crowds. She was secretly desperate for companionship, and when a seemingly like-minded group had invited her in, she was swept up in the thrill of the pack. This desperation to fit in dulled her senses to the fact that the semblance of shared interests had been a bluff, a facade. It no longer seemed to matter so much.

At seventeen, Mena was a civilized city girl, belived in the strength of the anthill, the inherent **_rightness_** of it. And if someone or something should kick it over? _Well, shit happens, but not to me_. She loved clothes, shopping, new technotoys, nightclubbing, flirting. Her childhood aspirations were remembered as a charming fantasy, like believing in avenging unicorns.

Aunt Hel had moved farther into the country, too, having found town life too annoying. Mena saw her once a year, at family gatherings. They no longer had long late-night talks between themselves. The woman just gazed at her niece briefly, knowingly, and a little sadly.

A Fourth of July at the lake, hot colorful day, friends moving in a gnat-like swarm among a larger crowd of picnickers. She was princess of the world, cool, pretty. At sunset the dust-sweetened little group of friends set off around the edge of the lake, heading for a prized secluded vantage. For a long while they wove their way through the folding chairs and coolers of families, then the crowd thinned and became a sparse and broken line of encampments. Eventually the crowds were left far behind, and the carefree little group claimed a wide outcrop of flat rock that extended a giant's palm into the water.

It was the best fireworks show she'd ever seen. The huge bursts of searing color had left her heart pounding, her eyes dazzled. After the fireworks was a second show; they sat on their remote bit of shore and watched with smug laughter as the sluggish lines of cars tried to all leave at the same time. It took over an hour for most of the cars to trickle away like cold molasses.

With all the headlights gone it was very, very dark. The group began picking their way back along the shore. Jokes were tossed around, lighthearted giggles and chuckles followed in their wake. The group became a stretched out line as they drew farther apart, stumbling along a beaten path between trees. Mena's heart soared; this was the best night of her life. She fell back, bringing up the rear of the march back to the parking area.

In the space of a heartbeat there was someone standing in her way, someone big. It took her a second to realize with dismay that the silhouette was not that of one of her friends. She took a step back, bumped into another stranger. Her confidence and giddy happiness of moments before was swept away by an emotion she'd never experienced before: true fear. Not the everyday fear that most people commonly suffer - worry - but fear of impending danger, imminent death. When all the world's pretenses of safety come crashing down, that is when you know what fear **_really_** is.

The person she'd bumped into grabbed one of her arms, pulled it painfully behind her back, at the same time covering her mouth with a bruising hand. The one in front of her stepped closer... she could see a little better now, her eyes were recovering from the over-bright fireworks; it was someone wearing a letter jacket. A couple of football players by their builds. _Oh shit oh fuck_. _Either of these guys is three times my size, and I don't even have a fucking knife on me! How could I be so stupid? _

The boy in front of her spoke to the other, over her as if she were an object. "Let's go in the trees a bit..." The one restraining her snickered maliciously; he knew she was powerless. Mena tried to scream through the hand mashed over her mouth, but she could tell that no one would hear. She thrashed her body around as they pulled her towards the treeline. Her arm was yanked excruciatingly, she stumbled, accidentally stepped hard onto her kidnapper's foot. He swore, drove a knee into the small of her back. "Thought that was funny, did ya, cunt?" Stars swam in her vision; the pain was unexpectedly sharp. Panic and terror, and a sense of injustice at her situation made tears slip freely from her eyes.

Suddenly she understood why the woman she'd seen raped on the television movie had been so gutless. It was fear. Fear had made her weak, helpless, and stupid. Mena was paralyzed by it. Shame at her vulnerability was easily surpassed by the overpowering, uncontrollable fear.

She figured they were either going to rape her, or rape her and kill her. Either way, what did she have to lose by doing as much damage as possible first? Mena was sobbing as she threw her head back hard; it connected with a faint crunch and a surprised yelp. She was able to squirm free instantly. "...by doze! by fucgingh doze..." She threw herself in the opposite direction without thought, just wanting to put as much distance between herself and these two as possible. The wide, still lake was right in front of her; she splashed into the water desperately. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she could never outrun the two boys. Swimming away might be her only hope, even if only because it was so unexpected. _I hope they can't swim. I hope they give up. I am such a jackass to rely on hope to save me now_...

Mena was far out into the cool black water before she calmed enough to pause and listen. No sound came from the water behind her, or anywhere. Unless they had amazing lungs and were swimming underwater towards her (she panicked again for a moment and thrashed a few feet further on), she was all alone out in the silent lake. Her sobs became almost hyperventilating as she treaded water, her clothes dragging like a scum around her quaking limbs.

A tiny ray of relief managed to dawn on her, but it was followed closely by the truth of the situation; she was out alone in a lake, in the pitch dark, and she couldn't go straight to the nearest shore. What if they were sitting there, quietly just waiting for her to come back? _No. **Fuck **you._ She scrunched her face into a terrified but defiant sneer, and kicked off her shoes. A deep hitching breath, then she turned towards the distant shore where the parking area came right down to the waterline. A lot of cars were still there, a lot of people enjoying the evening and in no hurry to leave. It was a long ways off. There was no choice.

Half an hour later she dragged her exhausted body up the rocky shore. She could barely lift her legs, and had to exert even more energy picking her way carefully around the sharp rocks. Mena headed towards the parking area, hoping her friends would be there, waiting for her to catch up.

Just as she sighted the familiar cluster leaning on her Mustang and a couple of other cars, a movement at the corner of her eye made her turn her head. Walking not twenty feet from her, a couple of big football players in varsity jackets. One of them was slightly hunched, holding a hand to a bleeding mess of broken nose. The other one must have noticed her sudden stop, and looked over, saw her. Mena could recognize them now, in the lights of the parking lot. They were the most prized members of the school, top athletes, very popular among students and staff alike. They had a godlike status at the school, they could do anything they wanted, because they were loved.

A slight smile crept into his face, but he kept walking. The boy whose nose she had broken didn't see her, and they continued on, fading into the remains of the crowd.

Mena knew exactly what that smile meant. It meant she was anything but safe. He now held a sword over her, she might never know when or if it was coming. It meant she didn't dare point the finger at the two boys, or every single student, parent, and staff member would turn on her like wolves. No one speaks ill of a hero. No one smears the shiny reputation of the popular.

That night, as she lay awake with the fear still coursing through her, Mena understood that the last few years had been the 'charming fantasy', only more like a bewitchment. Now, almost too late, she could see the traps, the addiction of carelessness, the narrow perceptions. Aunt Hel was right afer all. _And I knew it, I knew it and I tossed it away. I've wasted so much time on this useless crap._

Mena knew she had to straighten herself out right away, and get in shape. The life of cafes and boutiques and fashionable wit, it was ephemeral, useless.

There was a problem, though. Her own mentor had warned her of the importance of it. If Mena were to suddenly change, into a whole different personality as they'd see it, all her friends and family (except Aunt Hel, who was far away) would think she'd gone crazy. Or as they said it these days, 'developed psycho-social imbalances'. Even more serious, she would be seen as an enemy, a weirdo, a freak, a literal menace to society. She'd be shunned, locked out, an overnight pariah.

Being cast out of the warm circle of friends wasn't what she wanted; even if they were flippant and inane, she liked their company. Mena would have to hide her true nature for awhile, let it out slowly so they could either get used to it, or give her some warning that they wouldn't accept it. Also, she yearned to continue as she had before; the fun, carefree life. Even though it was useless. Even though it was a numbing, dangerous illusion.

The rest of that summer was spent relearning how to use her body and mind, as well as the practical weaponry to defend herself. She made a small knife out of bone, remembering as she went the techniques Aunt Hel had taught her about carving the difficult material. The knife was very small and sharp, and could be worn under her shirt on a ribbon. It wouldn't set off the metal detectors when school started, and could be explained away as jewelry if necessary.

When she first wore it, a secret strength, Mena felt a strange power; she could now walk without fear. It was more symbolic than practical, a talisman rather than an effective weapon, but she was now the one in charge of her destiny.

Her new perspective became sharper when school started. It was her senior year; the respect and authority that came with being at the top of the heap imparted a certain leeway to behave oddly. In a sophomore it would be labeled posturing, but in a senior it was accepted without too many raised eyebrows.

Mena began noticing the social rituals from an outsider's viewpoint again, but with the advantage of still seeming to be one of the herd. She soon lost interest in many of her more civilized hobbies. Some of her friends accepted this change as an interesting turn, possibly a cutting-edge style in the making. Others rejected her for straying too far from the predictable, the acceptable.

By her graduation, she was a different person. Quiet, cunning, vigilant, hard-eyed. Shreds of her old fun-loving self clung to her, the barnacles of urban life. A small part of her still wished she could return to the innocent fantasy of civilization; it was such an enticing illusion, and the urge to be one of the crowd was shamefully strong. Mena struck a happy medium, holding on to the pleasures and thrills of civilization with one hand, to the knowledge of the underlying world with the other.

A week after graduation was her eighteenth birthday, and she had prepared for it, planning her own private rites of passage. Everything she was now entitled to, she claimed. A large, unhidden tattoo, rather than the small, inoffensive (cute), clothing-hidden one her parents had pleaded with her to choose. A pistol; though she'd been taking target practice for months, it had shocked her family when she brought a gun home. They behaved as though it were illegal, an evil horror. The only person who wouldn't be offended by it was Aunt Hel, and Mena was going out to stay with her for the summer.

Mena felt this would be her true graduation; being examined and approved by her first teacher, her friend, her role model. And she would, hopefully, get to meet Mr. Mysterioso, her aunt's Special Guy, if it hadn't been just a fairy tale told to assuage a young girl's worries. Aunt Hel was not one to make up lies, though; when she said something you could be fairly sure it was so.

* * *

And now she had met him. And now she was able to cast off the last layer of her weakness, like a shell she had dragged around, a heavy shield against the frightening world. Mena didn't need the shield anymore. She believed truly now in her own strength, and would not tolerate dead weight, empty toys of the past. _Now I am free. Mena, unleashed._

She smiled broadly. _It's true what they say. Your whole life does flash before your eyes when you die._

* * *

Helen awoke out of a deep sleep to the sound of the creature's truck pulling up. She took a few deep breaths, glanced over to where Mena was. 

Wasn't.

Mena wasn't there. Helen did a double take. A twinge of mingled concern and relief fluttered through her mind. _Good, she's up/Where is she?_

The creature descended the steps, wearing a different coat and its hat. She croaked out, "Where's Mena?" It looked over at the place the girl had lain, and Helen's heart sank. _He doesn't know, either. Shit. This is not good._ "Car is gone," the monster rasped, adding to her worry.

"We need to find her, right now." She grabbed the chalkboard, trotted to the stairs. "Can you follow her scent?" The creature trailed her up the stairs, nodded, then cocked its head questioningly. "She might not be right in the head. She wasn't last night." They climbed into the old truck, bounced down the abandoned road.

"Why, **_why_** did you fuck her **_fourteen_** times?" Helen hadn't really expected an answer, but the monster's bony hand reached for the chalkboard. It set the plank on its lap and scrawled out words as it gripped the steering wheel with the other hand.

LITTLE DEATH NOT STRONG ENOUGH

TRIED TO MAKE LIKE YOURS

HAD TO GIVE UP GOT HUNGRY

A strange gang of emotions turned their faces to her all at once. Helen was quiet for a minute, then arranged her face, said more gently, "Humans aren't built for your kind of... excitement." She turned a worried face to the window. "I'm afraid her mind's come unmoored..."

The monster smeared the chalkboard clear with a forearm, wrote again.

SHE IS YOUNG AND STRONG

It then bent to sniff the vents, and the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon.

Helen wondered for the hundredth time where the girl was. _Does **she** even know where she is? This can't all be going wrong, it was going so well. I didn't make a mistake, bringing her into this. I was so sure. I'm still sure. But I just wish I knew where the hell she is._

Mena had shown such promise, and from an early age. She was bright, intuitive, and practical. Helen had decided long ago not to have children of her own, but Mena had been more than a daughter to her, she had been the future, the one who would carry on the secret, the strength. Helen had known, deep inside, that she was shaping this girl, and not against Mena's own nature, into a weapon. When the child matured, aware of the world and armed to face it, what a surprise for the complacent masses! Mena could be Helen's vengence on a world gone soft and rotton.

The grey monster, part of her world for only five days, had never left her thoughts over the years. Its terrible strength, its ravenous appetite, its good-natured attitude; all were mere facets of something beyond her comprehension. The creature was natural, yet more than natural; magical, terrifying, powerful, ...like a god. She couldn't help it, held the monster in a sort of intimate reverence. It had touched her to the core, and she would forever follow, in quiet awe.

When the young girl had asked if Helen had a true love, she hadn't been able, didn't even consider denying it. She had at that moment looked at her niece, known that if anyone would survive and even enjoy meeting her monster, it would be Mena. The desire to bring someone to her creature, someone not to be eaten, but to meet Mother Nature's hungry son, that desire was undeniable. It was a secret she could never tell anyone, but the girl... She was the one. The monster would enjoy the offering one way or the other, and if the girl died under the teeth and claws of a nature god, well, there were worse ways to go.

As for Mena losing her marbles, that hadn't been in her reckoning. Helen searched the horizon helplessly, even though the creature was having no difficulty following the scent trail. It didn't hesitate, barreled the truck along a road they had taken a few days ago.

A faint column of black smoke rose from the rolling, grassy terrain. Helen let out a trembling moan. _Oh my god_. It was true, though, the creature was heading right for that dark sign.

The tire tracks were still visible in the dew. They turned from the highway, approached the smoke, which was rising from a chasm in the ground. _No no no..._ As they reached the end of the tire tracks, Helen's heart leapt. Mena was lying on the ground, looking down into the ravine. She crawled across the monster, yanked the door open, nearly fell out in her eagerness and relief, and trotted closer.

"Mena...? You ok?"

The girl looked over her shoulder, a wide smile plastered on her face, still spattered with dried blood. "Yes. I'm... perfect." She scooted back, got to her feet, and strolled slowly to meet her aunt. A face subtly changed greeted Helen. The set of the mouth easier, knowing. The eyes too dark... _Her eyes can't have changed color!_ And yet those dark eyes also seemed to glow with an inner light.

"Mena, your car... what **_happened?"_**

The girl glanced back at the thinning cloud of rank smoke. "It had to go. It was the last anchor holding me down to the old life. And besides, it was too flashy and impractical. I need something... nondescript, for hunting."

Helen tried to untangle the various implications of Mena's words. Was she rational, or had her mind gone over the edge with the car? The last sentence made her heart beat faster, though. Hunting. Helen knew what the girl was referring to there. It seemed she was rational enough to have plan in mind.

She drew closer to the girl, spoke in a low, soft voice. "Are you sure you're ok?"

Mena tilted her head, smiling broadly, nodding. "Of course!"

"I was just worried..." Helen glanced at the black smoke. " 'Cause you were, uh, **_not_** ok when I got back last night."

Mena looked over Helen's shoulder, saw the monster standing near its truck. A tremor passed over her body, and she made a strange half-laugh, half-sob. Her eyes grew wide and wild for a second, then it passed and she was looking at Helen again, placid yet excited.

"I'm better than ok. I'm dead."

****

End of Chapter 6

* * *

A/N: Ok, give me a break for some technical improbabilities here. I don't know if you could really cause a car to explode by cutting the gas line and crashing it. And I'm not going to test it. Mena could have easily just pulled the gas line out instead of cutting it, and if you cut a gas line, the engine dies pretty damn fast. But hey, suspension of disbelief is not my only excuse. It was MORE FUN this way. So just go eat your Unobtainium Flakes and don't hassle me about it. 

What's the song playing as Mena pushes her Mustang into the ravine? What else? GunsN Roses - 'I Used To Love Her, But I Had To Kill Her'.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry this was so long in coming. A move, the Hellidays, and the flu; that's my excuse. This chapter is weak, IMO, but hey, free dummy.

WARNING: Ummmm, no sex or violence again!

**The Acolyte**

_Chapter 7_

Helen watched her niece out of the corner of her eye, alert for any sign that might tell her for sure one way or the other. _Is she nuts? Crashing your car - your classic car - into a ravine, that's not a very good sign. And she seems... changed. In itself not a bad thing, but if she can't keep her wits about her, it could be dangerous, for all of us_.

They were on their way back to the schoolhouse, tearing up the empty asphalt in the blazing dawn light. As Mena had neared the truck to climb in, the monster had taken a couple of curious sniffs at her, then crowded her against the rusty hulk of the vehicle to smell her more closely. The girl hadn't resisted; closing her eyes slowly, she had leaned her head back, a look of distant rapture blushing her face. The creature had abruptly finished and stepped aside, turning to Helen with a peculiar smile, and indicated with its eyes that she should get in.

She was dying to ask it what it had smelled, but with Mena sitting between them in the bare cab, the timing was wrong. The girl sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, absently humming a tune over and over to herself. Mena spoke up suddenly. "You did something to the engine." Her head tilted a bit as she listened. "Show me what you did." The creature looked at her with a corner of its mouth drawn up, glanced at Helen and back to the girl.

Soon they pulled up behind the ugly school building, a ground-hugging tail of dust following meekly behind the dark truck. The monster went to lift the hood, but Mena turned towards the cellar door. "I **_do_** want to see what you did to it, but I'm so hungry I could eat my own fingers!" She grinned and trotted down into the darkness, leaving the creature laughing loudly.

Helen threw a baffled look at her dark friend; instead of writing an answer on the plank she held out, it pantomimed the explaination. The monster pressed close to her, took her waist in one powerful grip, and bucked against her; its eyes rolling wildly, the monster leaned its head back with half of the other hand shoved in its jaws. The mental image was worth a thousand words, and Helen understood instantly; at the same time her legs almost failed her from overflowing lust.

The monster picked up on her reaction, probably had done it that way on purpose, but she swallowed hard, ordered her body to calm itself. "We better feed that girl first. I hope you grabbed something earlier." She glanced at the back of the truck. One last lingering inhale, and the creature gave her a gloating wink, stalked around and threw open the back doors; sure enough, it began unloading bulky, bloody packages.

Mena and the monster spent over an hour under the hood of its truck, while she studied the bizarre hodgepodge of modifications. When the hood was first raised, the girl had stared dumbstruck at the tangle of homemade repairs. It looked like nothing else she'd ever seen; a racecar mechanic tripping on mushrooms for a month might have come up with a similar nest of soldered pipes and wires. The creature proudly pointed out the latest work, and after a moment she recognised a system of power boosters obviously inspired by her late Mustang. Mena was in awe; the monster had studied her car, learned the mechanics, and built its own version in one night.

Helen wandered out, stood next to the proud monster as it displayed its hidden treasure. The girl finished her inspection, turned to the two beside her. "I want to learn to make weapons." She glanced at one, then the other. "Now." Helen noticed something; not only were the girl's pupils unsually dilated, turning her eyes from the pale, sparkling brown of a peat river to a deep chestnut, she also avoided looking directly at the creature. She'd look at its coat, its hat, the tree over its shoulder, but not into its face.

Mena was also very direct and demanding today. Not rudely so, just no shy mumbling or giggling. As if she'd matured, cast off all the girl fluff. Her spartan demeanor clashed oddly with the bloodstained shirt knotted hillbilly-style at her midriff, and the hot pink shorts. Helen wondered if she even noticed what she was wearing, or cared. She had a feeling Mena was beyond fashion concerns any longer.

x-x-x-x-x

They labored in the monster's workshop all day, pounding and grinding and carving. The girl was an apt pupil, absorbing every technique eagerly. The creature had brought an armload of leaf springs in from its truck, dumping them on the floor with a deafening crash. Under its dark gaze, Helen had shown her niece what the monster had taught her; how to cut blades from the well-tempered steel, how to grind and polish them to razor-sharp perfection.

With her sleeves rolled up to her armpits, skin shiny with sweat, and greying hair tied back in a leather thong, Helen resembled some Valkyrie smith, forging magical weapons to slay the dragons of corruption.

The monster carved hilts for the new blades, unadorned but elegant in their savage austerity. As it slid the tang of a blade into its bone handle, a perfect fit, it raised its eyes to Helen's. A shadowy smile lifted the barest corner of its mouth. She closed her eyes and shuddered. A smirk crawled up her face. She raised an eyebrow, glanced at her niece. _...And her?_

With a growling chuckle, the dark creature reached over the workbench, grabbed a large, cruel-looking axe cut from a single piece of steel. The weapon was all business, no nonsense. Flipping the axe in the air and catching the handle again, the monster laughed. Its dark mouthful of deadly teeth grimaced in answer.

Helen considered as she watched the creature pin the knife together. _It still knows something I don't about that girl._ When she had asked it about her niece, the monster had simply gestured for her to be patient. _At least it doesn't think she's broken._ Mena was polishing a curved knife long enough to be a short sword, the cold light in her welding goggles contrasting with the molten reflection of sparks. Her nostrils flared briefly as a tiny hot meteor landed on her arm.

x-x-x-x-x

In the heat of midafternoon the monster rushed out, chased by hunger. Helen sat with her niece at a table, finishing handles and assembling parts. The girl had made one of every different weapon she'd been instructed in; all basic and functional objects. She had excelled at metalwork, but the details such as sewing and soldering had frustrated her.

Mena had become suddenly enraged at one point, shrieking and hurling her project at hand - a caltrop - against the stone wall. "Son-of-A-BITCH! Fuck you and your little dog, too!" She grabbed a large hammer and ran over to the little spiked ball where it had fallen, began smashing the little cluster of bone and skin with vicious fury. Blue sparks flew as the hammer rang discordantly. It was over just as quickly; Helen watched with wide eyes as Mena walked nonchalant back to her seat, began working on another caltrop. She seemed to not even realize what she'd just done, even muttering, "...where did I put that hammer **this** time?"

Still, she had persevered and completed a small armory.

Some had come out slightly crude and awkward from her inexperienced hands, but a few were works of rare talent, as beautiful and well-crafted as they were lethal. Mena had made herself a pair of curved blades, one long and to be worn in a sheath that fit diagonally across her back; the other smaller and fitting into the strap of the larger one's sheath, where it crossed her ribs.

These definitely were not weapons of self-defence.

Mena had also made a hook to be thrown; like a grappling hook, it was tied at one end to a light rope. She had been pleased with the whole concept, mumbling excitedly to herself, "...what a great idea! More useful than sliced bread..."

Finally the heat and strain of their labors wore them down. "How about a break, Aunt Hel? The water...?" Helen felt refreshed even hearing the words, which washed over her skin, cleansed the strain from her mind. They abandoned the dark roots of the schoolhouse, taking their blistered hands and aching arms to the hidden pool.

x-x-x-x-x

"Aunt Hel, what am I?"

The question came out of nowhere, startling the woman from her cool green thoughts. She looked up from the wavering reflections on the water's surface. Mena's eyes were fixed on her with that chilling, hungry look she had acquired. Helen was disquieted by the words. _Not all there...?_

"In what sense, Menad?" she said softly after a few quiet seconds.

"I was a teenage city girl on summer vacation. Now... I'm not. Won't be ever again. But I don't know what I **_am_** now." Her voice was steady, strong, almost a monotone. She furrowed her brows slightly, concentrating for a moment.

"I'm a killer... but I don't feel..," she gestured in large circles, "...**_bad_**. A cannibal, too, ...but it just seems... right. I am -completely outside the anthill." Mena said wonderingly. She pursed her lips, tilted her head, thinking. "So... what **_am_** I?"

Helen blinked slowly. How to respond to a question like that? Metaphysical, moral, yet direct and practical. Possibly her mind's last clash with the values of society that she had been raised with; even though she'd never believed in those values, she'd had little else to compare them with. _Or perhaps, she's asking what **I** am. Funny, I never thought about it much. _

"I don't know the answer to that, Mena. You are what you were born to be, not what the world has tried to make you into." She gave a slight smile. "You'll have to follow your nature to find out." A sharp laugh escaped her throat, water sloshed and lapped gently in response. "Sounds corny, doesn't it? It's the truth, though."

They shared the same open, serious gaze. Mena nodded once, slightly.

x-x-x-x-x

The monster had returned when they arrived back at the lair. It looked up sheepishly from the remains of its meal; the pair of corpses had already been picked clean. "What? Nothing for us?" Helen gaped in mock exasperation. Her stomach growled loudly, punctuating the irony. "Well, I guess we'll just have to eat each other...," she grinned at Mena.

The girl gave a feral smile, unsheathed one of her new blades, and looked down at her own body. "What'll it be, Aunt Hel, ...shoulder? Drumstick?" She patted her muscular calf, chuckling.

The creature ran up between them, throwing a worried glare back and forth.

"No, we were joking! We wouldn't really eat each other," Helen reassured it. The monster looked only half convinced as it let out a growling chuckle.

Mena's face became cold and calculating again. "Let's go hunting. All of us." It wasn't a request, more a statement of fact. Helen raised an eyebrow, tilted her head as she looked to her creature. The excited gleam in its eyes and growing leer was all the answer needed.

"So we shall, Menad."

End of Chapter 7

* * *

A/N: My beta reader pointed out a tiny problem with the previous chapter - you have to be 21 to buy a handgun, not 18. Oh well, this is now taking place in the alternate universe where the moon changes from full to quarter in four days, and you can buy a pistol when you're 18.

Next chapter will be gory and lewd, **I promise**.


	8. Chapter 8

**WARNING:** Just in time for Valentine's Day - Explicit violence, gore, and Smut. Smutty smut. Violent, gory smut. Smutty violence. Don't say I didn't warn you. Minors and mental patients are commanded to GO AWAY NOW. **Or I'll cut you.**

_**Chapter 8**_

Anna reached out and fiddled with the volume, then sat back and snuggled further under her boyfriend's arm. Chris wasn't overly bright, but he **_was_** sweet. When she'd suggested they go out for the evening, he had cheerfully picked her up and driven them into the fresh-smelling country.

"Where are we going, then?" she'd asked after a while.

"Out. Just ...out." He gestured along the dark road. "...Is that ok?"

He always seemed a little timid, nervous that she would disapprove of his simple inspirations. She hadn't told him what a relief they were. Chris didn't play games with her; he was as deep and conniving as a glass of water.

After a couple of hours, though, she began to have some doubts. It was so dark out here, no lights promising friendly little towns or farmsteads. Shadowy clumps of trees spilled towards them like black waves crashing against a crumbling shore. The thought of what hid in that darkness gave her the creeps.

"Do **_you_** know where we are?"

Chris hesitated before answering. "...Um."

She struggled to repress the sigh that welled up. Getting lost in the country was not part of a romantic evening. Maybe for high school kids, but she was too old for this.

"Don't worry, hon, I'll just turn around and go back the way we came." The confindence in his voice was not entirely unfounded; Anna had noticed he had a nearly photographic memory. _Like an idiot savant_, she thought, then cringed at her own meanness. She knew he could at least get them back to familiar roads, and laid her head on his shoulder.

_My knight in shining armor: gallant, guileless, and good-looking._ Those were things she liked about him - he didn't know how easy he was on the eyes, and had manners. He treated her like a queen, and she felt that was appropriate. It was about time she was the queen.

"...No way!...," broke into her sleepy reverie. Her head jerked up, eyes struggling to focus. A large orange and white striped sign sat askew across the two-lane highway.

**ROAD CLOSED - DETOUR**

An arrow pointed to a side road. It was a narrow strip of unlit pavement, identical to the one they were on. "But... this was the road we came on..." Chris' voice was confused, plaintive.

The car idled, facing the sign uncertainly. Anna could practically hear his uncomplicated mind struggling to deal with this situation.

"There was probably a wreck or something, honey, and they had to divert traffic." She tried to believe in the words, tried to ignore the little knot of unease forming in her stomach. "It's ok, just follow the detour."

"Yeah... Yeah, ok." He let off the brake, rolled forward, turned onto the intersecting road.

After ten minutes on the dark, unmarked road, another orange detour sign appeared. A swell of relief rose up in Anna's chest; it was at least guidance - someone **_somewhere_** would tell them where to go, would lead them safely back to civilization.

As they turned down the road indicated though, she frowned. It was taking them entirely the wrong way, further out into the damn country.

The road began to twist and turn, confusing all sense of direction. Old overgrown oaks crowded the asphalt, daring the little car to invade their dark-rooted stronghold. All of a sudden the pavement ended, and they were bouncing and crunching on a gravelly dirt lane. Anna's unease became sharp and tangible, hairs crawled on the back of her neck. _This isn't right._

Without warning the car dove into a deep rut, sliced across the road by spring runoff. Anna cried out as she was flung against her seatbelt, her hands went out instinctively to brace herself. The car abruptly stopped, tilted downwards. Anna's heart pounded insistently. _It must not be too bad - the airbags didn't go off. _Then the irritating truth hit her - they were stuck, she didn't even need to ask. Chris was groaning quietly and shifting back and forth from drive to reverse, trying to budge the vehicle.

It was hopeless. The car must've bottomed out. They wouldn't even be able to push the car out of the deep rut. She dug around in her purse, found her cell phone. 'NO SERVICE' blinked unemotionally on the tiny screen. _Perfect._ _And we're in the middle of nowhere_, Anna thought with an angry hissing sigh.

"...sorry," Chris mumbled.

"Someone will come along eventually - this **_is_** the detour. I just hope they have a tow truck." She bit off the last words, unable to hold in her impatience with their bad luck. It wasn't his fault, but she was realizing just how much she disliked the country. You couldn't do anything, get anything, you couldn't even walk anywhere; it was just too big, too... hostile.

The cooling engine gave off soft ticking noises for a few minutes, and then slowly died away, leaving only the sinister rustling of the dense trees over the lane. _So quiet_, she thought.

_So dark._

_So quiet._

_...and so far from home. _

Suddenly nervous, Anna reached for the radio. As her fingers touched it, a loud rapping against the driver's side window made them both jump. A woman was standing outside, stooping slightly to peer in.

"Oh thank God," Anna grumbled, relieved help had arrived so quickly. She turned the dome light on while Chris rolled down the window.

The woman studied them for a moment, seeming perfectly at ease with the country darkness. She was in her forties or fifties, Anna guessed, and looked like one of those independent farm women who grew vigorous and sturdy from their years of hard work. She was of medium build, had a very feminine figure under her work shirt and dusty pants. Her grey-streaked hair - once dark - was tied back in a loose braid; an easy smile and relaxed posture spoke of complete confidence in her abilities. The woman's sweet, girlish face reassured Anna.

"You folks got stuck, huh? I heard it from my porch. Just live a little ways off." She gestured noncommitally into the trees.

"Ma'am, please tell me you have a phone," Anna said past Chris, trying to sound less desperate than she felt. She just wanted to go home.

"Sure I do." The woman smiled more widely, exposing small white teeth. Little crow's-feet at her eyes wrinkled up cheerfully. "Name's Becky. Becky Bates."

Anna chuckled nervously and got out her side, purse in hand. "You don't have a son named Norman, do you, Miz Bates?" Becky just barked out a soft laugh, began walking towards the dark trees.

"It's this way..." she called over her shoulder.

Anna frowned. Becky might be able to walk through the woods in the pitch dark, but it made Anna more than just a little uneasy. Chris was wavering between following the woman and staying by Anna's side. "Coming hon?"

She remembered the flashlight he kept under the seat. "Yeah, hang on a sec." In a moment she had the light, and felt safer, armed against the night. Becky was waiting for them at the edge of the woods. "Just follow me," she said, turned and strode into the trees.

As the couple hurried to keep up, Anna noticed that the path they were on was barely a trail, maybe only a deer track. It twisted and meandered aimlessly. The circle of light bounced against jagged rotting stumps, reaching branches, endless undergrowth. Becky was no longer in sight, but they could hear her movements ahead of them, and occasionally she called out, "Come on now," or "...just a bit farther." Anna trotted faster, keeping in front to illuminate the path, not wanting to lose their guide.

_Maybe she'll have a pot of coffee on, a nice porch swing. This could turn out to be less of a disaster, after all._

After a few minutes, Anna realized she was hearing only her own footsteps. She paused, certain she would hear Chris' footfalls, his breathing close behind. Only the hissing of the leaves and clicking of the branches far overhead - nothing more. Even the sounds of Becky's passage were gone. Anna's heart froze. A soft wail, like a lover's sigh, fled from her throat. _Any moment now, I will hear them, I'll be fine. _

_Please._

"Hey!..." She held her breath, ears pleading for a response. The dark pressed against her tiny beam of light in contempt of the feeble effort. Anna's heart began to pound, and she turned slowly, as though shining the light in other directions would illuminate the sounds she ached to hear.

An agonized masculine wail threaded through the trees, striking her like a sledgehammer. The worst had suddenly become unimaginably real. She stumbled in the direction of the scream, feet pounding faster than she knew they could move. "Chris! Chris!" Maybe he just ran into a big spiderweb, or got sprayed by a skunk or something. Maybe... though she knew with arctic certainty that it was nothing they'd be laughing about later.

A pale abberation flashed in the jostling beam of her flashlight. A shoe. Chris' shoe, laying by the side of the path.

She fumbled on, her breaths coming in panicky hitches. A long torn rag, horribly recognizeable as part of his shirt. The red stain along one side burned in her eyes as Anna sped past it. "C - Chuh - Chris...," she was almost hyperventilating now. Leafy branches slapped her face, teasing her, mocking her distress.

She rounded a slight curve, rushed towards the crumpled heap laying in the path ahead. Someone was already there, bent over his still form. A girl, kneeling beside him, seeming to check his injuries. Time thickened like molasses as Anna stumbled closer. She saw the girl in sharp detail, as though all the surrounding woods were merely a two-dimesional tapestry, and noted all the details in a detached alcove of her awareness.

The girl was a lanky teenager, probably would be tall if she stood. Mousy-brown hair fell over her face, partially obscuring delicate, almost impish features. A generous bosom gleamed in the light; the girl's shirt was loosely fastened. A disconnected pang of jealousy darted through Anna's mind at the sight of those fresh young breasts hanging over the still shape of her boyfriend.

All this was noted in the short seconds of headlong motion. The girl raised her head, looked into the light. At first, Anna saw a look of anguish, mirroring her own. The girl's large, dark, wide-set eyes were bright and shining, surely with tears. Then, incomprehensibly, Anna watched a smile creeping snail-like over the girl's face; the look was not anguish but something vile, something hungry and triumphant.

The girl turned slightly, and Anna saw the searing color of fresh blood, too bright, and the long curved knife drenched in that screaming red.

A clarity of terror clenched Anna's mind. **_Run_**, it demanded. **_Now._**

_**Run, or die.**_

She felt her legs flailing, turning away, just away, anywhere but here. The path was lost instantly, she didn't care. The beam of light bounced insanely against looming foliage. Her purse was knocked from her grip by an unyielding branch, and tumbled away as she ran on gasping and sobbing into the malevolent woods. Snapping twigs and light footfalls sounded from close behind her, drawing a thin scream from her lips. Death followed, and no matter how her feet rushed, drew closer.

Anna crashed into a solid object; the force of her momentum crumpled her against it before she rebounded and fell to the ground in a breathless heap. A wild idea raced through her frantic mind, that a tree had stepped into her path.

The flashlight was still clenched in her grasp, and she raised it shakily to see what she had hit.

Tears sprang to her eyes as the light fell on a pair of large muddy boots planted firmly in the earth; above them was a ragged coat. Against her will, the beam of light moved upward. At the top of the dark, stained coat, a nightmare leered down at her. She couldn't move, could only stare open-mouthed.

It was **hideous**.

All wrinkles in gruesome dark skin, black lips framing an absurdity of fangs, eyes glaring evilly at her, into her. The cruelty in its face was matched only by the awful hunger oozing from its gaping mouth. Anna had only a moment to think, _...it's not fair, monsters aren't supposed to be real!... _before it lunged towards her.

Her lungs vomited a shriek as she dropped the flashlight, scrabbled back and to her feet. As she stumbled backwards, she hit another obstacle, softer, but just as unyielding. Hands like a hawk's gripped her around the arms, the neck, holding her prisoner. Anna thrashed feebly, and a familiar voice crooned into her ear. "Shhh. It's over now."

The woman. Becky. She held Anna firmly; the dark nightmare just stared at them.

Anna felt Becky smile against her ear, then a bolt of agony, tearing flesh and crunching bone, slammed into her back. A wetly shining spike protruded from her chest.The last thing she felt was the hot tide running down over her stomach.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen held the young woman until she stopped struggling, became limp and heavy. The creature approached, plunged a dark hand into the wound, pulled the heart free. The dead woman sank down into a puddle, finally flopping face-first over her own knees. Helen watched the body curiously for a moment to see if it would topple over, then she realized the monster was holding something out to her. The heart it had just seized, steaming invisibly in the creature's bloody grasp. The monster was actually offering it to her.

She looked up at it in surprise. _What is this? A valentine...?_ "Thanks but..., you go ahead." The grey creature thrust the dripping handful closer to her mouth, insistent. Helen shook her head. "Really, I don't think I have the right kind of teeth to eat that." She began to turn away, checking for dropped evidence to pick up. _The flashlight, and she had a purse-_

Like a gust of wind the monster stepped in front of her, grabbed a handful of shirt to hold her in place. Helen looked up, startled, and it let go, held her with its eyes as it pinched a morsel off the heart between its thumb and forefinger, long sharp nail tearing a strip of tough muscle loose. It then offered her the red tidbit, held it to her mouth. She looked at the meat, looked at the monster, parted her lips and let the creature push it in her mouth. The heart was neither tender nor savory, but her companion seemed eager that she should eat more. _Probably why he swallows them whole, they're impossible to chew._

Feeling like a grown wolf pup being fed by an overzealous parent, Helen suspected this was more than it appeared on the surface - a hunter's ritual.The monster watched her, inched closer to inspect her, _for what?_

She was fed the entire heart, bit by bit. Helen would never have believed she could eat the whole thing, but her creature had such a sense of urgency that she consume it all. After she had swallowed the last bite, it just continued staring at her, head tilting slowly.

_What the hell is it looking for?_

After a minute, it blinked a few times, the only sign of resignation she could tell. The monster resumed its normal attitude of voracity and crouched down, cutting into the body.

_That was extremely odd,_ Helen mused. _What just happened?_

A rough hand plunged into a vast incision, reemerged with a long, pale lung. The organ tore in half and was stuffed into jagged jaws, then the hand returned to the oozing wound for more.

_I can almost always tell what it's thinking, but... this._

Helen shrugged, walked stiffly over to pick up the woman's flashlight, bent carefully to retrieve it and switch it off. Running through the dark woods had been fun, but had aggravated her creaky joints a little. _Small stuff, I can worry about it later. All is well, my wonderful monster is here, and Mena is not a jar of nitroglycerine waiting to drop._

x-x-x-x-x

It'd been almost too easy to lure the unsuspecting young couple into the woods; they never imagined until too late they'd been led there, caught in a neat trap. The monster had homed in on the passing car, had followed briefly but not close enough to arouse suspicion. After bringing Helen and Mena to an isolated dirt lane, it had disappeared into the night with a leathery rustle.

A moonlit examination of the location revealed the eroded gouge across the road, and Helen began to understand the plan. They discussed very little; Mena also seemed to draw the implications of the car-stopping ditch in a remote road. _We all think the same way,_ Helen thought with a small smile. As Mena strolled into the woods, her sonorous voice called back, "I'll be waiting..."

Only later did she find out it had played a game of misdirection using borrowed road construction signs. The monster deftly steered the naive couple onto the remote road, stranding its meal. Helen picked up her role with an enthusiasm she could barely mask.

She even teased them with a ludicrous name, giving a title to her part in the burlesque: Baits.

She had told them right to their faces what she was doing to them, and it had given her a satisfying rush. Helen could practically see the woman's thoughts running across her apprehensive features; _Here is a straightforward hick - honest, wholesome, and helpful. She may be backwards, but at least she won't cheat us._

It had been almost a shame - the woman was strong, brave despite her fatal misconceptions. A shame, yet a thrill.

Her man was so gentle, so easily led astray. All Helen had to do was step quietly aside, remain still in the shadows while the man blundered on, mistaking Mena's decoy sounds on a side path for his guide. Like the old game of Exquisite Corpse, each of them picked up where the previous left off, combining their efforts in unique, individual chapters. It was a game of inspiration, improvisation, metamorphosis.

Helen had crept silently behind, curious to see what her volatile niece would do.

Mena had toyed with the guileless young man only briefly, not out of impatience, Helen concluded, but a spartan prudence. The girl had placed herself in the man's path, allowed him to realize he hadn't crashed into his girlfriend but a stranger. As his eyes had widened in the moonlight, Mena lashed out mercilessly. The man flailed, scrambled to get away, didn't make it far. Helen had a moment to marvel at the girl's ruthlessness, her perfect timing, then the doomed woman had arrived and shone her light on the scene.

In that light, Mena emerged fulfilled. Not a trace of the afternoon's uncertainty, a feral glow lit up dark eyes that wore the look Helen had seen once before. The look of a hawk sizing up a rabbit. What Helen had mistaken for instability was something entirely different, it was Mena as her true self, as she always was underneath the clutter.

Even more, an enlightenment shone from those eyes; the understanding of her nature as one beyond naming. The creature had no need of a name or title - neither did she.

Mena had blossomed.

The monster had seen this from the beginning, had been teasing Helen that she was blind to the obvious.

Helen had smiled, sighed with pride, even as she darted after the terrified woman.

x-x-x-x-x

A knife-like twinge shot through her hip again, bringing her thoughts back to the present. Helen turned; the woman's corpse, half-eaten, was unattended.

_Something's wrong. Not like him to leave a meal..._

She stepped towards the body, felt the movement of air behind her a split-second before the large hand closed on her throat, under her chin. The monster wasn't squeezing, just holding her to itself, but her bark of alarm was smothered in the severe grip. Jaws brushed the back of her neck as they opened wide, teeth snagged on her skin.

She held as still as possible. Her feet were barely touching the ground, and she could breathe only with effort. The creature's awful maw was ready to bite through her spinal cord, but did nothing more, just clutched her and breathed - motionless, waiting.

Helen forced a voice into her throat. "What are you-"

A noise silenced her; a growl so deep it was more a vibration than a sound. A dire warning.

She calmed herself, though her heart was racing. Helen hoped it would be quick. She figured the monster might be incapable of either speech or comprehension of speech right at the moment, maybe had forgotten who she was.

The creature's unmoving grip overwhelmed her. The solid, tense fingers around her neck; the sinewy muscles of the arm pressed against her; the pillar of obdurate fate at her back - the blood churned in her veins, responding, resonating. She leaned into its imposing strength, needing to absorb it. Spiky teeth grazed at tender flesh.

A tremor passed through the monster's jaws, pricking her skin. A hair-raising growl that rose to a needy whine rolled from the creature's throat, then it pressed a languorous tongue to the nape of her neck, licking slowly across the skin. Helen's mouth opened, her eyes closed. _What a way to go... if that's what it's doing. It acts like it can't make up its mind. I don't even care, _she thought, surprised at herself.

The hand abruptly released her throat and lowered, grabbing a handful of her shirt and flinging her down over the torn body. She landed heavily, face-down across the woman's gaping stomach, gasped for air as she looked over her shoulder at the creature. It was pacing back and forth, staring at her in the low moonlight, opening and clenching an ominous hand. It seemed to be confused rather than angry.

Helen kept still when the monster took a menacing step towards her. _It's trying to make me run... but why? It **knows** I won't._

_Why don't we understand each other any more?_

Still struggling to catch her breath, the creature pounced and crawled onto her; its heavy body hovered over her like a lion over a coveted kill. Face almost pressed into the earth by the nervous weight, Helen bit back a flash of anger - it was swirling with a potent excitement. Her pants were clasped in a strangely careful grip as she began to speak. "Let me u-**guhhhn**...!" Her words and thoughts were demolished as in a single frenzied motion, the creature bared her and swooped down to plunge its face between her legs.

It began devouring her with its tongue desperately, as though its life depended on it. Helen couldn't have gotten up now if she'd wanted to; all the strength had run from her muscles, and she fumbled blindly at the corpse under her, grabbing a slick exposed bone to hang on for dear life.

The monster knew all the sweet spots, and played them mercilessly. She panted into the fresh, blood-soaked dirt, moaned as the excruciating feast sent heat rolling through her prone body. A stony hand on each hip held her in the uncomfortable and undignified pose, and the creature seemed to pay no attention to her other than the one blessed, besieged cleft. She'd have been annoyed if she wasn't writhing in delight.

The creature's head turned slightly and it bit down on the inside of her thigh, just enough to pierce the skin. Just as an angry scream began to flee her throat, its tongue's assault continued, turning the sound into a wailing caterwaul. A pleased growl rumbled from the monster's dark mouth, sending fresh shocks through her tingling, liquefying flesh. It was torture, a torture of pleasure, an unrelenting flogging.

Storms of electricity built in her belly, grew to take hold of her body, squeezed the breath from her lungs. The creature twisted its grip on her thigh, sending a blinding splinter of pain through her sore hip; a sweet spasm swept up, struck a bolt of violence into her brain as it shook her body. Saliva dripped unheeded from her mouth as her body quaked, powerless and driven, a team of maddened horses running wild.

The monster reined her in, tantalizingly slow. The exquisite, crushing convulsions that had ruled her body eased away, and she turned her head weakly, saw a forest of pearly ribs beside her, shining in the dappled starlight.

Once again the creature crawled up over her, hovered against her, but protectively, possessively this time. A peculiar strength returned to Helen from within; despite her submissive posture and physical weariness, this savage creature was under her sway. She could feel its complete obsession, its desire, its desperate need, like the heady perfume of some deadly, night-blooming flower.

The bulge of the monster's erection strained through its pants, softly brushing her bare ass. She pressed back against it reflexively, felt her own pulse still throbbing in her groin. The monster took two deep breaths, then reached down a hand to fumble with its ragged trousers. It managed to open them; from the audible rip, Helen knew not very neatly; she couldn't repress a smirk. It lowered itself onto her, its rigid cock seeking out her moist, swollen nest. Helen sighed as it slid inside her, the fullness she craved sank deeply, held still before withdrawing and plunging again with ardent intensity.

The creature lowered its head beside hers. She could see its nostrils flaring, jaws clenching, teeth bared as it plundered her. Its outstretched hand clutched at the earth, gradually tearing up a handful of soil and popping roots. Every inch of Helen's flesh was keenly sensitive. She felt its rough skin and coarse hair, painfully taut muscles, every movement of the cock inside her as it probed her deep within, caressed its way almost free, then thrust back into her heat, the monster's weight pounding against her buttocks.

Suddenly the monster's jaws snapped twice; it gave a loud disconcerting growl, twisted its body to tear a chunk of flesh from the corpse. Drops of warm blood flew in an arc; the mouthful was swallowed in a heartbeat.

The fresh, bloody smell shoved Helen over the edge; her overstimulated senses collapsed in a riot of pleasure. She cried out, open-mouthed, contorting underneath the creature's spasmodic penetration. It seized her in both arms around her chest, crushing her against its body, lifted her upright with it. The shriek that erupted from its mouth nearly made her heart stop. The creature growled, hissed, spitting and gnashing, plunged hard one final time, trembling like an oak in a storm.

It seemed to become aware of how tightly it was holding Helen, loosened its arms enough to let her breathe freely. She could do no more than lean into its chest; her body was twitching from exertion.

Minutes passed before the creature surprised her by speaking.

"Was hungry..." its rumbling voice grated into her ear, as though thinking aloud.

"You need to eat," Helen answered, voice hoarse.

A wicked, wheezy chuckle bubbled up from the creature's chest; its relaxing organ, still buried within her, throbbed; Helen's lower muscles squeezed in response. She jabbed an elbow playfully into it ribs. "You need to eat FOOD, smartass."

It continued to hold her. Helen's mind slowly resolved into some semblance of order. _I wonder if that was what happened. It was hungry, for food, for sex, confused between the two, and I could only read the confusion. _

The dark monster's only reply was a soft, musing growl.

_End of Chapter 8_

A/N: Go clean yourself up now.

I make no apologies for the explicit scenes above. This chapter was written under the influence of Blue Velvet -my forever favorite David Lynch film; Like Water For Chocolate (sexy! delicious!) by Laura Esquivel; and Sibelius' The Swan of Tuonela (music). And Sauza tequila, of course. And that damn old full moon. It make me so crazy.

A photo of Mena is available upon email request. I won't put it on my site for ethical reasons. You can stop laughing now.

_Viva Frida_


	9. Chapter 9

Warning: Violence and weird sex (vicarious necrophilia?). Not exactly explicit. Hey, **_sorry!_**

_**Chapter 9**_

_What a peculiar and delightful moon this is._

_Only four days awake, yet already such an unexpected bounty._

x-x-x-x-x

Last moon was average until the eighteenth night, when the Woman crossed his path and aroused his curiosity.

When he first caught the Woman's mouthwatering scent - a simmering fury curling in afternoon heat, he chased her down as usual. Instead of the horror his attentions invariably provoked, she rebelled, fought back without hesitation. She offered little fear to pinpoint the source of the delicious aroma, and unexpectedly, delightfully, parried his attack.

_Touche'_

He was unable to forget that smell, though, wasn't made to pass up a gourmet meal when it presented itself during his short feeding moon, even if it **_was_** hard to get.

The hunger... the hunger was **_everything._**

It was a simple matter to disable her vehicle and delay her journey. All he had to do was wait for her to sleep in order to inspect her more closely. Not a surprise when even in the dark, she continued to chase. When he finally got hold of her, she even got a couple of bites in with her weapon. It was so unexpected he dropped her.

She got a good look, saw what she was facing, yet pursued him still. Did she have a death-wish? Her fearless aggression was intriguing; a distant echo of memory hinted that she might be more than food.

Inside his favorite lair, she strolled around, all anger gone and undisturbed by his grisly hobby. Hidden among his mounted trophies, he watched.

A human in her prime, healthy, heartbeat slowing from the chase through the woods, pink flush of exertion showing through her olive skin. Long dark hair caught up in a hasty tail at the nape of her neck. The ease of her bearing made a strange marriage to her hunter's avarice - she wanted to find him, she was looking for him... but not to kill.

Some had come after him before, their rage and grief blinding all sense of self-preservation. They were merely an annoyance, easily swatted away so that he could continue his feeding unhindered. This one, not angry, but... hungry, and for something even she didn't understand. Having scented something she wanted, she couldn't help herself but to pursue until she had it. As he did. He felt a strange attraction that was not hunger, though he could put no name to it.

When she uncovered the fresh young human lying on the floor, a pang of jealousy made him grind his teeth. **_Mine! _**For a moment he was confused, wondered if that's what she was after. Maybe she had smelled that tasty morsel, somehow, ...but no, she had followed_ him _in here, and was already moving on to peruse the bizarre decor again. She smelled so damn delicious, so superbly edible, but she was like a fantastic wedding cake, a work of magic too intricate to eat. He was torn.

Not until she touched his flesh, touched it with a questing, fascinated hand, did he remember.

Once in a great while there was food that didn't act like food, and responded strangely. Greater pleasure was to be gotten from these than even from eating. Such things happen occasionally, though rarely enough that he could recall only a bare handful.

It didn't take long to remember how. Her reactions were intoxicating. There could be no question of eating her now, no matter how succulent she smelled; a treat like this was too rare and too entertaining to waste.

Drawing out the heavenly smells by licking her was wonderful, but she desired more. He knew what she wanted.

He had learned the trick of it long ago. A suitable phallus, though these days he rarely bothered to renew it, pleased her far beyond mere stimulation. Using the borrowed organ, however pleasurable, also caused him grating pains. It was worth the trouble, and pain was little hindrance in anything he pursued.

It was no surprise that she seemed inclined to stay, and he resolved to make her happy so she wouldn't change her mind. There wasn't much chance of that, though; she was as drawn to him as he to her. He could smell her blood heat up every time she looked at him, even stood nearby. The only habit he disapproved of was the cooking, a ruination of perfectly good food. It was easy enough to indulge her whims, though - and fun to have such an agreeable companion, who remained in spite of the danger.

Many times he almost succumbed to his instinct to devour her, but caught himself in time to tease the bewitching fragrance from her body, which cleared his mind of the ever-present temptation. Actually, he wasn't sure if it was the pain or the scent which cleared his mind.

The strangeness of living with and playing with food faded rapidly, lost amid a few days of travel, hunt, and indulgence in his hobbies. If he was capable of regret, he would be sorry they had so little time. He wasn't able to take her to some of his other, more interesting haunts. Sometimes it took days to remember them, much less where they were. Other times they were simply inaccessible due to human proximity.

The Woman was unique, to be sure. He'd wondered for a time if her eyesight was very poor - the sight of him usually sent people into a panic.

From the beginning, she saw him as an equal to herself. Not out of overblown self-importance, just from finally finding one with whom she could relate. Like him, when she saw what she wanted, her attentions were riveted until she got it, heedless of the consequences. She didn't act like his company was unusual or shocking, more as if... she had been expecting him. Waiting.

Hoping.

It was odd - she had none of the unease which even the most hardened of his few human playmates struggled to conceal. And she wasn't even a barbarian! Though she wasn't superstitious like the barbarians - well, even the civilized ones, now - tended to be, maybe that was the difference that freed her of terror.

Only when she asked his age, and he answered, did she become disconcerted. He hadn't wanted to tell the Woman his suspicion, that he was infinitely older than that. It wasn't a lie - he did tell her 'at least 400 generations', because beyond that his memories became so muddled that he couldn't be sure of the span.

Besides, humans were rather elitist about age, and tended to take long age as a sign of superiority. They considered themselves to be superior to all other creatures, and hated being reminded otherwise. True, they could be very clever, but were so proud of their little accomplishments that he couldn't help but make fun of them sometimes. For a race as prolific as they were, they could be quite ignorant.

To him, their lives were like the brief passing of mayflies, gone in the blink of an eye. Why else go to all the trouble of preserving them, so he could enjoy the pretty ones at his leisure?

x-x-x-x-x

To find her still living this moon - living and vibrant, that is a treat. Her scrumptious young kinswoman, a gift, is almost a surprise... almost. The Girl smells delectable like the Woman, and has an enthusiasm for the hunt that is most satisfying. The young one fears him; her veiled dread glows like an ember, sometimes flaring to fuel her savage nature.

It is all too easy to scent what he wants from her; he will have to be careful to keep her face at a safe distance.

She must know, she averts her eyes now, so as not to be mesmerized, like a bird by a cobra. Also, she still remembered the other night, when he had frightened her. He became a little... overenthusiastic, after so many efforts, and smelling her climax rolling in, had shrieked at her with head-spines spread as though to paralyze his prey with terror. It was what he always did, when the object of his obsession was finally in his grasp after a long chase.

Orgasm and hysterics seized her at the same moment. The combined burst of terror and pleasure that flooded his nostrils was savory beyond words. She screamed until she hyperventilated, then uncontrollable giggling set in. The exertions took their toll; her body would offer nothing more that night. It was enough, though - that last one was quite good. Probably not so good for her health - and she's a little skittish now, ...but he will try it again sometime if the opportunity arose. She is resiliant enough.

They are so charming!

Both follow him about, heedless of his vicious hunger; they emulate his hobbies and habits so eagerly. And they have a sense of humor. Outcasts from their own kind, they have a wry perspective of the situation that to most humans would be madness. Few find his style of wit enjoyable... in fact, most of their kind find it abhorrent, but these two - they make him laugh.

Long ago he had observed a human falconer; the man had cosseted the little predators, stroked and whispered to them, before sending them off to slay smaller birds and rabbits. He likes to pretend these women are his falcons; actually useful, unlike the crows that follow his trail of carrion.

Keeping them both alive, however, is a struggle.

If they smelled only as good as any normal food - which is to say, irresistible - having them in close proximity would be titillating. Some humans smell better than others, though, and these two... he can practically taste them. That rich, savory temptation would be unbearable, if not for the exquisite delights of their orgasms.

How interesting, to be so fascinated by flesh - living, willing flesh. He had always been drawn to human flesh, as food and as amusing decoration; it was pliable, had many different colors and forms. But flesh that he left alive, that he **_kept_** alive... Flesh that he could play, like the music the Woman had found. It was hypnotic. They were a bad influence...

They could almost make him forget to eat.

He roars with laughter at the thought.

x-x-x-x-x

He casts into his memory, dredging up other times such humans have crossed his path. They don't always smell so appetizing, but neither are they always so amusing. He thinks he remembers one going insane and casting herself off a high cliff in terrified confusion. He had to pick through the ruined remains for his dinner.

Another was of a nomadic tribe, and she was ostracized from her society. He found her bones in a tiny hovel the next moon; she had remained behind to await his return. The tribe avoided his territory afterwards; he never caught sight nor scent of them again.

Ahh, yes - it begins to surface in his memory.

A race of warriors, a clan of fierce and joyous demeanor. They were - like others that passed across the land - hardy, practical, and brave, but this race was also clever. They employed strategy, were even subtle. Obviously bent on more than mere survival, they flourished. They **_shone_**.

Most important, they had found the horses.

He had been surprised to see the horses again, after they had been gone for... so very long. And the beasts were somewhat larger, more powerful now. Taming those strong, skittish beasts had catalyzed the humans. They became more than their foot-bound neighbors, more than wandering scavengers. A refined culture had germinated, and the people reveled in their newfound glory.

Strong women held high positions in the clan, and he discovered one who would be something other than prey.

He had hunted from their ranks for generations before the encounter. He surprised a small hunting party, two men and a young woman. She was only just ripe, but her aloof posture, her easy authority over the men, the fine horse she rode as though it were an extension of her own body - all spoke of a familiarity with command in battle.

Her long black hair was intricately braided, interlaced with bright red cords to form a headdress. It was a functional vanity, meant to keep the hair away from the face during battle, as well as display her rank. Blue-black designs played across the brown skin of her bared torso - mythical creatures; honored predators and prey; abstract symbols of protection. Fresher stains covered each fingertip, from the first joint down, giving them the appearance of being coated in dried blood. He could smell otherwise, though - it was a vegetable stain.

Well-stitched leather breeches covered her legs, and a light cloak fell down her back. A small armory of knives hung from her waist, across her shoulders was slung a quiver of fine arrows for the bow she grasped at the ready. Nothing that could hinder him in the least. Alert as they were for their quarry, they never even saw him coming.

After watching him tear apart and devour her companions, she fell to her knees in a rapture of terror. He smelled her thoroughly, but she had nothing that piqued his tastebuds, and so he left, his wingbeats swirling her little cry, muffling the pounding of her heart.

Two days later, she tracked him down in his lair. Her eyes glowed fiercely as she approached him, shaking like a young aspen. He had been sitting on the floor, carving bones, when she entered. A little perturbed at the unusual intrusion, his wings spread as he stood and stalked up to her, his lips pulled back in a snarl anticipating satisfaction.

What happened next made him stop in his tracks, mouth hanging open with uncertainty. The young woman stood resolute, looking him in the face, and shed her cloak. The trousers and weaponry were gone.

An inviting gesture if there ever was one.

He was enveloped in the scent of her bare body. Some fear, but much more potent, something else. Excitement. Exultation. Desire. Captivated by the palette of aromas, he nosed her flesh intimately as she remained still, unflinching, her pulse pounding a drumbeat in her neck.

It was so odd. Either they were food or not food... that was all he usually needed to know. This one was not food, but smelled... alluring. More so every minute, as he sought out the source of the bewildering aroma. Something he wanted, but not food?

The more he prodded and pawed at her, the richer the fragrance became, the more maddening. He almost wanted to tear her body apart to get at the source, but intuited that the smell would cease if he did so; it wasn't to be gotten at that way. Learning little by little, he incited the woman's dusty, musky flesh to give up its secrets.

He pulled her to the bone-strewn floor, absorbed in this food/not food. His investigations had a curious effect; every time he grasped her in such a way, nudged her brown skin in this place or that, she would sigh, her muscles tensed or relaxed, the fragrance became sweeter, more pungent.

The woman's legs were askew. She seemed to anticipate something. When he pressed his nose to the sweaty crevice, she cried out like a little bird. She was moist... in heat.

He began to understand. She wanted to **_mate_**. He suppressed a howl of laughter at the idea.

The luscious scent might be stronger if he satisfied her need. But with what? He had no phallus at the moment, couldn't remember whether it was part of his usual form or not. A brief glance around the floor turned up a smooth bone of suitable size. He held it up in front of his face for a moment, then pushed it into the woman's slick orifice. She protested angrily, but he held her down easily, continued his experiment. Soon enough she ceased to resist, and became a groaning, panting puddle.

As he worked her, an idea began forming. Whenever he needed to replace a part of his own body, he had only to find it and eat it. A phallus would be a seemingly useless part of his anatomy, but... it couldn't do any harm to try. He abandoned the bone immediately and stomped over to one of his fresher kills, left the young woman gasping in dismay at his abrupt absence.

_Hmm._ It didn't exactly smell like something to eat, but he devoured it in a single mouthful anyway. To his delight, it grew out from his body, began twitching and responding according to its nature. The woman's eyes grew wide in wonder, then greed. The organ filled him with a new hunger.

He was so pleased that it worked, but not without some discomfort; it ached, as if protesting the unnatural use. The pain was hardly worth his attention in comparison to the feast he could now enjoy. He mated with her as he had seen animals do, released her orgasm, the essence he had been craving. What a curious sport! What a splendid delicacy! It hurt like hell, but was worth every excruciating moment.

To his surprise, the stolen phallus was not absorbed by his body. What else to do but use it again?

She returned next day; two bound men, strung on a horsehair rope, followed behind. She pulled them forward, indicated with her eyes that they were his. An offering. Whether by chance or instinct, both were suitable food, and he ate with delight.

The young woman, pleased that her gift was well received, looked on, proud and calm. A new dignity shone in her bearing; having been accepted as a mate by a god, she had been proclaimed 'Consort of Death' by her tribe. It was a position only rivaled by the healer. She was now their conduit to the powers of the underworld.

She came often, bringing other gifts from her people.

So many sacrifices were offered that he didn't need to hunt much, could spend a lot of time with his new plaything. Her language was easy enough to pick up, but hard to use. She told him her name was Ageathatli. After his first disastrous attempt to pronounce it, she insisted he call her Agea.

He indicated through brief words and gestures that he would sleep again soon. _Good thing, too, _he thought, grinning inwardly, ..._or there won't be many of you left._ He wouldn't return for three and a score years, the time it took one of them to ripen. Agea already knew, their clan had included him in their lore for ages.

"One who lures by seeming to be an old man wrapped in a cloak, pursues and devours those who he chooses." A few spoke of dreams during those 'old man death' moons - his hunting time. That was how they knew when he would return to eat his fill. They had another name for him, too - "the Crow King" - after the hunched, hidden-faced birds which inevitably followed his wake of destruction, whose presence foretold imminent doom.

"Crows have always accompanied us into battle, to feed on the chosen. They strike fear into the hearts of the weak. They eat the eyes and the choicest morsels of flesh, and carry them up to be stars in the night sky, to live forever. We have long known it was you who taught them this sacred way."

Her fanciful beliefs were too quaint to refute, so he patiently bore the tales. He was just hungry. Crows were just crows. What did it matter, if their imaginations led them to feed their own predator?

x-x-x-x-x

When he awakened the next moon, the tribe was waiting.

Agea had risen to become a great queen. He was received with uproarious celebration, and a veritable smorgasbord of food. She brought scores of sacrifices; her clan had learned to take prisoners from other tribes using his hunting techniques, decoy and ambush. He was their totem now, the living god that gave them strength in life and ferocity in battle.

She also brought her daughters for his pleasure.

Ah, her daughters. Some of them smelled like Agea - sweet but inedible, but the twin eldest were a conundrum. They were blatantly food, no escaping the aroma. His experience had told him that humans tended to become irrational and vengeful when he killed their offspring, even if they were capable of producing more. But as Agea and the other elders persisted in offering the two girls, he was hardly able to refuse.

His shrugged assent was met with relief. Agea's dynasty would be strengthened, one way or another.

One came early, her pride and impetuous spirit driving her into the arms of her destiny. This girl was ruthless, hard-faced, had been tempered by trials of blood and courage since she could walk. A long, rough scar across her face was borne with honor; it was the proof of her ferocity, of having leapt to the front of a skirmish. She reeked of terror and excitement, had been anticipating this day of her marriage to the god her whole life. If she was accepted as her mother had been, their line would be secure; no one would dare to oppose the next chosen Consort.

Her two sacrifices driven before her, she kicked them down and slew them before him. She watched with wide eyes as he fed, then turned his ravenous attentions on her.

The scent of her was too much.

In the throes of mating he succumbed to his craving and bit through the young woman's skull, killing her instantly. She was delicious. No point in wasting the rest, he devoured her with great relish.

As he was finishing his meal the second girl arrived, flustered at her tardiness. She was stunned motionless by the sight of her twin disappearing in great ragged chunks into the god's maw. Only the twitching of a muscle under her eye betrayed her horror.

This one was night to her sister's day, subtle and sensitive; though more careful in battle, she was just as deadly. He would have expected her to flee, after all, he could smell the dread oozing from her. He could see her swallowing convulsively, holding in the vomit, the scream. She stood her ground, though, savored her own imminent death as though it were a long lost friend.

The obsidian chips of her eyes glittered, never broke their stare as he approached her slowly, not wanting to spook her, stepping over the bloody heap that was her twin. _She's just like her mother_, he thought with a wide grin, and grabbed her greedily. _So afraid, yet faces her fear head on_. The same irresistable smell curled in his nostrils; he had already eaten the identical brain, and knew he didn't need another yet, still... it had been so very delicious. But he was more careful with this one.

The combination of her appetizing and sensual appeals attracted and confounded him at the same time. He couldn't get enough, and only lost his concentration once, accidentally biting through her ear, while his claws raked a long gash across her face. She bore the injuries with grim satisfaction; she had been marked, but not fatally. He cleaned her up, noting her increasing resemblance to her sister's scarred visage.

The girl limped gingerly back to her tribe a few days later, and they interpreted the events in their own unique manner. The twins had been one being in two bodies, and half had been consumed, worthy of being both mate and food to the god, while the other had become the living vessel of her honored sister's soul. For she **was** changed; she answered to her sister's name as well as her own now, sometimes could be heard conversing with her dead twin.

The return of his hunting moon found her ruling her tribe, Agea long dead in battle.

For many generations the tribe continued to celebrate his return, bringing many prisoners from their raids on other tribes. He didn't bother to refrain from taking his pick from their own, and they didn't discourage him, rather considered it an honor.

Eventually though, they faded and dwindled away, as all things do. Only a bare few remembered his existence, came to greet him and offer their own brief lives for his approval or hunger. In the end, the remains of the once-great clan were absorbed into the other horse cultures that sprang up, and he was lost to the murk of whispered ghost tales.

x-x-x-x-x

He thinks about the Woman, and wonders if he will be able to resist eating her.

One time had he gotten a decent taste, the first time they mated. Such a rare treat, and in his enthusiasm, he had bitten into her. A sly sneer crawls over his face at the recollection. Oh yes, she tasted quite as good as she smelled.

He was becoming accustomed to the alluring scent of her flesh, but it is now mingled with a new scent, one that he finds incredibly enticing. She ignores the ache from her deteriorating leg-bone, but the pain is like the cry of a wounded rabbit to a fox. It would be such a shame to lose her in a moment of distraction. But for that one weakness, her body is still in its prime, strong and ripe.

Earlier this evening, an idea occurred to him.

Hearts make him feel stronger, more invulnerable. He had noticed that humans, though capable of surviving on vegetable matter like the cattle and horses, were enthusiastic meat-eaters. They appeared to do it for the same reasons as he ate so much muscle tissue - to feel stronger. The strength of the muscles flowed right into his own aged body. Of course, humans aren't nourished in the same way as he, but it couldn't hurt to try. He didn't think he'd ever attempted such an experiment before.

She was reluctant to eat it; he nearly had to force-feed her. A wry regret ghosted past him as she chewed the mouthfuls, obviously not finding it as delicious as he did. Even more disappointing, no improvement came of it. Ah well, humans age and weaken, there is truly no help for it.

He came so close, too close tonight. He had been patient while the game played itself out, but when the smell of two meals overwhelmed him, he couldn't resist. She knew, she saw her death hovering and still did not run from it. He caught himself in time, did the only thing he could do. Such pleasures as hers could make him forget even hunger.

_She knows the danger. She **must** know, she and her kinswoman._ Both have observed how his appetite rules him. Yet they stay.

_How darling! Tame humans..._

It is strange, that he desires so much to keep one of these ephemeral creatures alive, against all instinct. But didn't even they sometimes develop an irrational fondness for their own domesticated beasts?

_End of Chapter 9_

* * *

A/N: The moral of this chapter: Play with your food >:-) 

- or, 'Never Get Perconal With A Chicken' (sic), which is a book of anecdotes by children.

For insights into the mindset of my monster, I recalled butterfly collections and silkworm husbandry. If you've ever seen a butterfly collection, you might see something familiar; dead butterflies impaled with pins, hung on a wall as 'art' - a bit morbid, don't you think? Yet not so different from what the monster does. In silkworm husbandry, the caterpillars are pampered and cosseted, given the greatest respect and care - but all for the prized silk they produce, after which the pupae are usually stir-fried.

Agea's tribe is not entirely made up, I based it loosely on the Scythians, a race of horse warriors in eastern Europe and Asia centuries ago. I don't know whether a tribe of Native Americans ever had a culture like that, and I don't feel like doing any research to back up this bunny. I am not ashamed to make such an improbable fictionalization; this is, after all, fanfic.

I'm working on a picture of Agea, and it will be on my website when it's done, in a day or two.

Trivia Moment: February's moon is called the Hunger Moon.

Sorry, everybody, I didn't mean to scare you. Helen is **not** dying! Have patience, things will become clear soon.

Lamb, what you wrote about The Other Half was the nicest thing anyone has ever said. Thank you!


	10. Chapter 10

**The Acolyte**

_Chapter 10_

Helen followed the beaten path that threaded through the woods, not hurrying, savoring the walk this time. The innocent, unthreatening night had closed up its seams. In the starlit darkness the little white car shone like a beacon, and the woman found her way back to it easily through the trees.

Mena was inspecting the car, its front bumper shoved deep into the eroded rut in the road. She looked up at the light sounds of Helen's approach, a hesitant pause between footfalls sounding out her ginger gait. The girl stared for a few moments, the feral look still holding her face, then softened as her aunt neared -alone. "Where is... he?"

Helen came to a stop near Mena, and leaned against the car. "Finishing his dinner. He'll be along in a minute or so." She laughed gently. "He was **_hungry_**." She saw the wide smear of blood behind the rear door, could just make out the dark bundle lying in the backseat. "And you?"

Mena's teeth appeared behind a thin, sly grimace. "I got what I wanted." She glanced at the still shadow in the car, frowned, and sighed. "But I broke a nail, dammit."

A snort escaped from Helen. "No, really," the girl insisted. "That guy was quicker than you'd think once a fire was lit under his ass. Damn near ripped his own arm off just to squirm loose."

The rough growl of the BEATNGU truck signalled the monster's return. It crunched down the broken road towards them, headlights off, and rolled to a stop a few feet from the stranded car. Their ravenous companion emerged and stomped towards them, carrying a stout old tow chain. The massive hooks dangling from the ends clinked dully. Glancing at them, the dark-coated creature swung one hook with practiced ease under the rear of the car, hitting frame without even having to look.

Helen gestured to the driver's seat, smiling at her neice. "All yours, Maenad." She handed the girl a purse and a flashlight, nodded towards the lifeless bundle in the backseat. "Got the keys?" One side of Mena's mouth pulled up in a dainty sneer as she she unslung her blades and climbed in. "Got 'em."

The truck plucked the car out of its trap without effort, and none too gently. Mena turned it around just as roughly, and leaned out the open window with a disgusted look showing plainly on her face even in the dim light. "What a piece of SHIT," she sneered. "Can I blow it up?"

Helen could well understand the sentiment; the car was one of those described as "sensible, yet stylish" by cologne-drenched car salesmen. By the bristling smile on her monster's face, it heartily approved the method of disposal. It pointed a clawed finger in a line joining the woman and its own truck, growled out, "Follow." Helen's eyebrow twitched up in curious anticipaion - _another new place to show us_.

She climbed in beside Mena in the crinkled little car. "You have a thing for blowing up cars, don't you?"

Mena laughed joyously as she gunned the motor, tossing up gravel and dust.

x-x-x-x-x

They were led down faceless, barren highways for over an hour, no landmarks visible in the farmland now that the moon had set. Helen took charge of the radio, quickly finding the only tolerable local station - a pirate rockabilly station that broadcast most nights from some rebellious farmer's basement. Mena beamed over at her aunt. "I'm having a great summer, Aunt Hel."

"Damn straight, you sly young wolf."

The roads they traveled became broken and neglected, eventually crumbled away into a weedy track. Every so often the hard-beaten track was eroded by grooves and channels, evidence that this road had not been used - much less maintained - for a very long time. The car had to be dragged out of more than one of the ruts.

The rusty hulk before them stopped. They had arrived at the end of the road. Skeletal shapes emerging from the darkness pressed from both sides. An abandoned auto graveyard. Old wrecks picked clean of all salvageable parts, left to rot and settle in rusting heaps. The meager profit to be made from crushing the steel husks and selling it for scrap metal must have become too much trouble. This place was dead and forgotten.

Beyond the truck a thicker darkness loomed; indistinct echoes hinted at a deep empty space. Helen unfolded herself from the cramped little car, relishing its imminent destruction more every minute. Mena followed her to the dropoff faintly visible in the beaten dirt. A wide, deep trench had been bulldozed out of the earth; shapeless clutter filled the bottom. The scrapyard had created their own clandestine landfill to dispose of anything they couldn't sell or recycle. Deep and well-hidden, the perfect place to make a car disappear.

The creature was rummaging around in the back of its truck, clanking and shoving heavy objects around. It reemerged with a narrow wooden ammo box under one arm, brought the box to the hood of the doomed car, and motioned for Mena to see. Not bothering with a key, it dug sharp claws under the rim and ripped the lid free of its hinges. "Oh hell yeah!" Helen crowed. The long cylindrical sticks inside, bright orange in the reflected headlights, could be nothing else. Mena laughed nervously, her eyes wide, breathing quickened. "Dynamite!... oh shit, I think I love you!" The monster's wide smile and glittering eyes laughed with her.

The car was maneuvered around the truck, up to the brink of the trench, where the ruts led over the edge. Mena stepped back, and the creature carelessly tossed the ammo box into the front seat, much to the women's consternation. A jury-rigged fuse trailed from the box; a gnarled hand offered it to the girl. She took it gleefully, as though she couldn't believe a dream was finally coming true - a whole box of explosives, hers to set off. Her free hand patted her shorts, her shirt, but the absence of the lump she was feeling for dawned on her quickly.

"Uhh, lighter?" she said to her aunt with a sheepish smirk. Helen fished hers out and clapped it into Mena's outstretched palm.

The girl took a deep breath, flicked the lighter, and held the little flame to the fuse. It sputtered to life immediately, hissing and flinging sparks as the flame traveled along, and Mena dropped it to avoid being burned. The car lurched forwards a foot, the monster had one huge boot on the rear bumper and gave it the last shove it needed. With a pathetic squeak the car rolled over the edge, and began bouncing and floundering down the steep decline, gaining speed quickly.

Headlights parted the darkness in its path, then it abruptly reached the floor of the trench and slammed head-on into a tall mound of ruined transmissions, knocking a couple off the top. One rolled onto the car's hood and smashed a shallow crater, half a second before the gout of flame and noise erupted into the air.

Helen was thrown back and to the ground by the unexpected force of the blast. The first flash of the explosion had seared a blue afterimage into Helen's eyes, but she watched with riveted awe as the fireball expanded outwards; flame, shrapnel, great clods of dirt ripped loose - flew in all directions from the source of the outrage. She looked over at Mena, also lying askew a few feet away, propped up on her elbows, face agape in stupefied triumph. "Wow... oh wow! That was fucking amazing!" The girl's voice sounded muffled; the blast had offended her ears enough to make them ring.

A transmission struck heavily into the ground between them, its weight pressing it deep into the hard earth. Helen stared at the smoking meteorite for a moment, feeling a more than a little lucky. "Heh...I think we used enough dynamite..." Watching the last of the fading mushroom cloud drift up, the monster chuckled, then gestured for them to return to the truck.

Helen and her protege clambered into the cab. It was like returning to a familiar fortress after living in a souped-up cardboard bungalow; not terribly comfortable, but at least it didn't stink of plastic and vanity. The truck roared into the night, sweeping them towards another unknown destination.

Of that, Helen was sure - they weren't heading remotely in the direction of the schoolhouse.

Her eyes were becoming heavy by the time they turned onto a pair of barely-discernable tracks. They jostled alongside a fallow pasture for a mile, passed a line of trees, then followed a curve around a shallow rise. As the swell of earth passed behind them, she began to make out large shapes in the distance, squared shadows, too regular to be natural. A building, alone in an unwanted wasteland.

A few hundred feet from the building, they passed between a pair of massive stone pillars, the barred gates hanging useless from broken hinges. Remains of a sign could be seen on the lefthand pillar.

' - **.TWIL** - : .** LIGHT CO**

**EST. 1910**

"What is this place?" Mena breathed out softly. Her eyes were wide as she tried to identify the branching shapes along the side of the crumbling structure.

"Catacombs," the creature croaked, lips pulling up in a grin at the end.

"Wha...? - catacombs...?" she asked, not sure if she'd heard right. A puzzled look to her aunt, who was ready with the unravelled answer. "He names his places - he's got a few." She briefly described the other ones she knew of as they pulled up to the front steps.

Helen climbed out after the others, stood with her hands on her hips, gazing at the decrepit ruin rising before them. Half of the stone entryway had collapsed, and many parts of the building leaned drunkenly. "Though this place looks a bit shaky." She glanced knowingly over at her dark companion. "Guess that's the idea, huh?" The unfriendly atmosphere of the building bore down on them. Definitely not the kind of place where anyone comes snooping. Ever.

The creature led them up the imposing steps, through a blank gap of doorway not blocked by rubble. It was pitch black inside; what had been merely dark outside was tangible in here. Mena flicked the lighter, held it up to cast a weak illumination around her. The monster emerged from the blackness, and held something in the flame. A torch, which sputtered and flared brighter, settling into a steady blaze in the scaly fist. The light and the creature holding it aloft turned and headed directly for an empty doorway. A second after it disappeared, a regular clanging stomp began, drawing away, downwards.

They followed the torchlight and descending footsteps into the darkness. One flight down, two flights, then through a wide passage, and they emerged into a chamber. The distant echoes of their scuffling feet suggested a vast open space. _Two stories down - that would make us under ground level here_, Helen mused. Another light flared, and she began to make out the surfaces illuminated.

A huge wall of ancient industrial dials, switches, and levers rose above them; a dust-softened sign here and there reading "PRESSURE ABOVE RED LINE MUST BE DIVERTED TO SECTOR G", and "ADJUSTED CAPACITOR OUTPUT". As the creature lit a kerosene lantern, more of the surroundings emerged from their tomb of shadow. A railed catwalk ran around the circumference of the room halfway up, at what would be ground level, though the windows along the front wall were stoutly boarded over.

Plainly this was a control room, for whatever this place had once been. The monster's name for it had yet to make any sense, though.

A crackling of sparks drew Helen's attention. The creature was crouched beside the car batteries it had brought in, and was wiring a makeshift cable to them. After a sputtering buzz, weak light began to glow from caged bulbs along the walls. Mena turned slowly in place, gazing at the intricate equipment now fully visible. She glanced at her aunt to remark on the palace of lost power, then did a double take and stared blinking at Helen, a disbelieving smirk crawling up her face.

"Oh, my god, Aunt Hel. You are **_so dirty_**!" The last words ended in laughter.

Helen feigned sheepish pride. "Aw, gee... I try..." She knew what the girl was seeing, however; the effects of being a monster's frenzied obsession.

Only now that light came steadily from all around did the great smears of blood and dirt show. Helen realized she had been practically rolling in gore and mud recently; though she'd wiped the worst from her face. Her clothes were hopelessly soiled, and putting a hand to her hair, she felt the crust of drying ooze. "Yeah, I must look a fright, huh?" The girl nodded, holding back a derisive laugh. "Well, nothing to be done about it, unless there's a lovely bathtub here, too?" She turned to raise an inquisitive eyebrow at her grey friend, who was striding now towards a passage at the far end of the room.

Anemic yellow light trailed into the passage from the caged bulbs, and the monster beckoned them to follow, eager to show thehidden treasure of its latest secret. Whether it was ignoring Helen's wish for cleaning up, or indicating the desired bath was to be found further in, she couldn't tell, but it never had failed yet to be both thoughtful to her needs and full of intriguing surprises. Whatever was down that passage was certain to be interesting.

The passage ended in a T within a few feet; in either direction an arched brick service tunnel led straight as far as could be seen, irregularly lit by dim caged bulbs. Along the ceiling and one side of the tunnel were electrical conduits of varying sizes, and a few loose cables strung along amid the pipes and lights. The creature turned, a mischievous sparkle lighting its wrinkled face, and gestured for them to keep up.

Every hundred feet or so, they came to an intersection of tunnels, all exactly the same, all leading off into the distance. Some of the intersections included a circular hole in the floor, partially enclosed by a safety rail, a steel ladder descending to the next level. Every intersection sported a junction box through which all of the electrical conduits passed; cracked gauges stared blankly as they passed.

"It does look like catacombs!" Helen said wonderingly. "Or a labyrinth. And complete with a minotaur, of sorts." She poked playfully at the monster's cloaked shoulder. The creature peered over its shoulder, winked. "I could definitely get lost in here without a map." Turning to point at the conduits and approaching junction box, the creature's rusty voice filled the narrow passageway. "Map." It laid a great gnarled hand on the pipes. "Map..." it said again.

Helen looked at her niece, questioning. Mena shook her head, she didn't understand either. They'd have to figure out the code of the conduits later.

A waft of moist air reached Helen's senses, shortly the sound of running water joined in. They came to an intersection, and the monster led them down into a level not lit by the electric bulbs. The noise of water was distinct here, and close. The kerosene lantern cast a feeble glow only a few feet ahead and behind them, impenetrable darkness closed in beyond. About twenty feet along the tunnel, a huge pipe crossed overhead, its corroded valve leaking enthusiastically.

The water running from the pipe smelled like river water - rich, lush, and untreated. _Must be a diverted line from a river, somewhere around here._ She put her hand under the flow, noting how chilly the water was. _Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. _"It'll do fine," she said gratefully. "You gonna keep me company, Maenad?" The girl was watching expressionless as the monster tied something to a nearby pipe. "Yeah, I could stand to clean up a bit, too," she remarked wryly, holding up her bloodstained hands.

Its work finished, the creature stood back, held up a spool of wire which it had tied to the conduit. It retreated into the darkness the way they had come, letting them see the wire now trailing along; a guide back out of the tunnels. Helen laughed heartily as she stepped under the flow and began scrubbing sticky filth away, remembering the story of the Labyrinth and the Minotaur, and the spool of thread that helped a couple of young Greek heroes to escape.

She'd decided not to bother undressing for her shower, since she had no clothes to change into, and what she was wearing was desperately in need of a wash anyway. Getting back into sopping wet clothes is no easy task. She stood shivering, wringing excess water from her hair, while Mena rinsed her arms clean of blood. "There's a draft coming from this way," the girl said. "Can you feel it?"

"Mmm hmm, all too well. But let's save exploring for another time, I'm freezing."

Helen picked up the lantern and ran fingers along the wire which would lead them to the control room. It would come in handy until she deciphered the 'map' of conduits. If she hadn't seen the creature unspooling it, it would seem like just another line leading nowhere. A secret guide, yet open to full view, the wire led them easily back to the ruler of this subterranian maze.

As they reemerged into the control room, warm flicking firelight greeted them. The creature had built a small bonfire -surreal and incongruous among the technical surroundings - in the center of the vast room. The top of the chamber held a filmy layer of smoke, but most was being visibly drawn out through a dark doorway off the catwalk.

Helen drew close to the welcome warmth, peering around for her friend. In the shadows near a wall was a stainless steel table of the sort the monster favored, many unlit candles crowding the ledges provided by oversized dials. A few homemade items were scattered around, and some items obviously borrowed from elsewhere, but the creature was nowhere in evidence. A dark smudge on the floor near her foot caught her eye. It was writing, a message in charcoal.

GONE FOR SUPPLIES

LOOK IN OFFICE

"Where's the office?" asked Mena, noticing the writing.

"Hmmm..." Helen gazed around. "Whichever room is most accessible to the main controls, I'd guess." There was a door near the monster's table; a wide window in the wall beside the door, obviously for supervising operations in the work area. "That looks promising," she said, pointing.

She turned the steel doorknob, opening the door into darkness as Mena peered over her shoulder. The window was too dirty to allow enough light in to see. "We're gonna need that lantern. I can't see shit." Mena handed the lantern up.

Piles of stuff. That was the first impression, and the pertinent one. Clothes, purses, backpacks, transistor radios, blankets, bags of groceries, cd players, guns of every shape and size... there was even a broken oar leaning against the wall.

"Holy **shit**!" Mena blurted out.

"Bo-nan-za," was Helen's response, whispered through a grin. A storeroom of leftovers, stashed by a creature who had little need of it, but reasoned it might come in handy someday.

Mena grabbed a .44 pistol, opened the magazine. "Damn. Empty." She tucked it in her waistband anyway, and reached for another, a shotgun. A frown shadowed her face as she found it empty as well. So was a .38 automatic. And a .22 rifle. "What. The. Fuck."

Helen looked up from the slightly bloodstained sweats she was stepping into, having peeled off her sodden jeans.

"They're all empty. What is this, another sick joke? A fucking thousand guns and no ammo?" The petulant indignation on the girl's face challenged her aunt, in the absence of the real culprit. Helen bit down on her lip to keep from bursting out in laughter.

"Mena, this is all stuff taken from victims. Stuff they had on them."

"So...?"

"So, anybody with a gun on them most likely unloaded it into our friend."

Mena rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh, understanding.

"Don't worry," Helen said, eyeing the rifles. "Looks like there were hunters on the menu a few times, and they **_always_** carry ammo. There'll be some boxes of shells somewhere in here. Look for a vest with a lot of pockets."

They continued to rifle through the treasure trove eagerly, exclaiming in triumph whenever something of value was uncovered. Mena pulled out a large boombox and a small backpack full of cd's. "Are the batteries any good?" Helen asked, curious. The girl pressed a few buttons, and music blared from the machine. "Guess so..." she shouted as she turned the volume down, and peered at the display. "Not that good, though. I'll have to find some fresh ones soon."

"...ohhhh, yeah." Helen was bent over a crumbling paper grocery sack, from which deep clinking sounded. She straightened, holding a fifth of whiskey in one greedy hand . "Heh heh, we're talking fifty-year-old scotch here. And it was good scotch even back in the seventies." She smiled mischievously at the girl. "We got the makings of a party here - bonfire, booze, and boombox. See if any of that music is tolerable. I'll rustle us up some grub..." Bending over the grocery sack again, she pulled out a family pack of twinkies. Mena's face twisted into horrified disbelief, though Helen defended her find. "Hey, they never go bad."

"They were bad to start with, Aunt Hel."

"Fine, I'll eat the twinkies and you can have the granola shit in that hiker's fanny pack."

Half an hour later, the control room reverberated to the heavy beat of an old rap song. The two stomped around the dying fire, passing the scotch back and forth as they shouted along. "You never know where she'll come from - she walks softly but she carries a big gun." A strip of jerky hung from one corner of Helen's mouth, chewed like a cheroot since it was so dessicated as to be nearly inedible. Mena swung a huge revolver from one hand, empty but comforting just the same. Helen couldn't help laughing when she noticed the irony; her girl was doing anything **_but_** walking softly right now.

As the song continued, the music began pausing every few seconds. Mena snarled and leapt onto the boombox, jabbed at it furiously until she realized the cause of the disruption.

"Batteries ran out, Aunt Hel."

"Aw, fuck it. We still have voices." With that she leaned back and began a rising howl, letting it draw out into an ululation of savage delight. The echoes wove their way back through hidden paths for several seconds, both woman relishing the unexpected chorus.

Mena took a deep breath, her howl forming a low growl which rose in pitch and volume, becoming a cry of unrestrained rage. It was straight from the soul, and stiffened the hairs on the back of Helen's neck. _And I was worried about this girl?_ The echoes rose and fell eerily through the building.

"You're a natural born screamer, you are." Helen said, nodding in approval. Mena beamed with wild pride.

A coal popped softly in the fire, then a distant howl reached them; a chorus of gutteral screeches and shrill bellows. **_Not_** one of their own echoes. It grated and faded while they stood listening; moments of silence elapsed before a raspy chuckle bubbled up as an encore. Helen blinked groggily and smiled like a moon emerging from behind a cloud. "He's back!"

Minutes later the creature slid into the room from the tunnels, dragging half of a corpse by the foot, grinning from ear to ear. _A secret entrance...? _Helen thought through her whiskey-washed fatigue.

The monster passed through the room and back out the door to the stairs, returning in a minute with arms full of miscellany. It made many trips back and forth, bringing more items in, and as Helen watched she felt the weight of exhaustion settle over her. It had been a very long day; so much had happened she could barely believe it. In a sleepy haze, she pulled several of the blankets into a pile.

Mena gave her a disparaging look. "What, giving up already?" though she appeared ready to fall over, herself.

Helen pulled her boots off wearily. "You've blown up **_two_** cars today, made a sword - hell, a whole armory, and gone on a hunt. You can't tell me you're not worn out too."

The girl sighed deeply, visibly surrendering to the total depletion of her energy. Body and mind were used up, like the batteries that had given out a few minutes ago. "Yeah, you're right. It just... it's all so exciting, I hate to waste any time on sleep."

"I know what you mean. But we humans can only go so far." Helen took a deep drink from a canteen of tinny-tasting water, tossed an armful of blankets at the girl's feet. "Here. Make yourself a nest and park your carcass." She laid back on a pillow of wadded up sweater. "Sweet dreams..." she mumbled as she slid into a deep sleep.

x-x-x-x-x

_She walked down the tunnels, far down, knowing instinctively where she was headed. Down a few ladders, into the dark, but it wasn't too dark to see. Severed body parts appeared every so often, strewn along the sides of the tunnel, sparce at first, then more thickly as she walked on, until the floor of the tunnel was buried. A delicious aroma hung in the air, indefineable and complex, like an expensive incense from an ancient temple. A distant sound of screaming came from all directions, fading, changing; she was soothed by the musical harmonies. The body parts became even deeper, piled up high on both sides. They ended abruptly at a huge gap in the tunnel wall, where chunks had broken away to reveal a cave mouth. Inside nothing was visible - it was velvet black as though a curtain hung across the opening. She reached out a hand to feel that darkness..._

_End of Chapter 10_


	11. Chapter 11

**Warning**: Explicit gore & violence, take me seriously on this point.

_**Chapter 11**_

Helen awoke with a start, instantly disappointed. _I was almost there..._ She felt rested though, and didn't have an urge to go back to sleep, to try and pick up the gossamer threads of her dream. An odd scratching sound drifted through the dim control room, which was now pierced by tiny horizontal shafts of golden light. The noise was like a frustrated junebug trying to escape from a jar - a buzzing zip, a soft thud, then silence for a few seconds.

She turned her head, saw Mena still sound asleep, stretched out on her stomach, face half-hidden under an olive drab blanket. The sound was hard to locate, though it repeated fairly regularly. Helen sat up, face pulling into a grimace as the soreness of her hip voiced its indignation. She shifted into a better position while looking around.

The room was scattered with a few new things, 'supplies' the monster had brought in last night. A large anvil on a stand, hand tools of every sort, a generator, washtubs, crates marked 'WARNING: HAZARDOUS LIQUID', a small pile of fresh bodies. A skin lay draped over the steel table, abandoned in mid-project, the bloody bones tossed on the floor.

Her eyes fixed on the bodies. _I knew there was something odd about this place. No bodies. None on the walls, none on the ceiling, none anywhere._ She humphed, perplexed. _For catacombs, it's awfully bereft of remains._

A movement and flash of light caught her eye, followed by the sound of a plastic disc hitting the floor and rolling away. Across the room was a familiar shape, hunched on the floor with its back to her. Helen couldn't see what her creature was doing, but the intermittent soft buzzing and scratching was coming from there.

Free of the tattered clothing it wore outside, the monster's body was hers to admire. The muscular figure at rest was just as sexy, just as engrossing, and she tilted her head, letting her gaze wander over the coarse grey hide. Its uncanny wings, folded tightly, easily, against the bunched muscles that drove them, occasionally fidgeted and flexed. Hanging between the wings, the tangled wisps of white hair shifted with every small movement of its head.

There was another flash of light as the monster tossed a cd aside, then reached to pick up another and continue... whatever it was doing. Helen noticed a tarnished brass shape over the bumpy shoulder. "Aww, no..." she mumbled as the suspicion dawned on her. The little buzzing noises now had a meaning. As she began laughing aloud, the monster turned aside, revealing the little Victrola, on which it was attempting to play cd's.

It picked up the one on the spinning turntable, held it up, and shrugged, shaking its head. Helen pulled herself up, groaning, and walked over to her friend. "Those aren't records. They _are_ music, but they don't work the same way." She peered at the Victrola, winding down now. "I hope the needle isn't damaged. Let's wake the kid up." She threw a wicked smile to the creature, who returned it instantly, teeth exposed with mischievous glee.

Rummaging through the pile of 78's in their paper sleeves, Helen pulled out one that seemed appropriate. She spun it between her fingers, then plopped it on the felt-covered turntable. The creature's gnarled fist cranked the record player, and Helen carefully lowered the needle, while turning the volume up as high as it would go.

After a few seconds of pops and crackles, the overture of a brass marching band blasted out of the Victrola's bell. Mena was on her feet before her eyes were even open, pistol in one hand, knife in the other, both held out at the ready for the battle that had descended without warning. The look of sleepy shock and confusion was priceless.

As she caught sight of her aunt and the monster, rolling on the floor with laughter that was drowned out by the deafening march, and the little antique record player between them, she eased her stance and sat back down. Helen got her breath back and turned the volume down, still laughing between breaths. Mena threw a dirty look her way, held up the pistol. "Yeah, very fuckin' funny. Be glad we didn't find the ammo for this, or that thing would be full of holes right now." Helen patted the brass bell. "Just had to make sure it still worked." The girl smirked wryly, shaking her head.

The creature returned to its table and resumed work on the skin it was preparing. After choosing some better music, Helen followed, pulled up an ancient office chair to watch. "So... where do you put them - the bodies you've stuffed?" The monster had both hands full, one held skin and the other a blade to scrape it clean, and held a second smaller knife between its teeth. It reached up and took the little blade in spare fingers, said "Far down," while pointing to the tunnels.

Her heart sped up for a moment, though she wasn't sure why. A faint memory, a dream perhaps? Something far down the tunnels... It evaded her grasp, a flashing fish gone as soon as she reached for it. "Will you show me?"

That beaming, wrinkled face nodded enthusiastically at her, always pleased to share its macabre galleries with one who appreciated them. The creature gestured to the skin it was preparing, and she nodded, understanding. When it was done with this one, it would take them down to see.

Helen returned to where Mena sat, rummaging through a large backpack, pulling out various camping rations. She noticed with satisfaction that the monster had brought her carpetbag, as well as Mena's bag and bundled weapons. The clothes she had worn the day before were still damp, so she pulled out a pair of jeans and a shirt. Before changing, though, she pulled on her shoes and headed for the stairs. "Where're you going?" called Mena.

"Gotta see a man about a horse." Helen answered, stopping to glance back at her niece.

Mena stood and hopped quickly over, pulling her boots on as she went. "Funny. I have an appointment with that same man."

Helen put her arm around the girl's shoulder. "You know which one is the poison ivy, right?"

The girl looked hurt. "Aunt Hel! You taught me that when I was three!" They retreated into the dark stairwell laughing quietly, to pay their respects to the morning.

x-x-x-x-x

By the time they returned, there were two washtubs out, holding flayed remains in a chemical bath. The monster was snacking noisily on the last of the corpses it had kept aside, but looked up at their approach, and dropped the arm in its grasp. It reached for the kerosene lantern, and eagerly gestured for them to join it.

As they followed the creature down into the tunnels again, Helen kept a careful eye on the endless conduit pipes, trying to decipher their hidden message. It would be all too easy to get lost in here; the echoes of their footfalls rang deceptively down the arched brickwork passages, which all seemed to look exactly alike. There was a caged lightbulb every twenty feet or so, creating isolated amber pools in a river of shadow. They had climbed down two ladders, into the darkness of the lowest levels, when the only difference she could tell stood out. Two larger conduits running along the top of the ceiling wore peeling yellow paint. She wasn't sure about the other level between, but Helen was sure it had been a fading red paint in the upper passageway. Other than that one small difference, no clues offered themselves.

Bones began appearing on the floor, just sparce scatterings here and there, and then suddenly they were among the bodies. Neatly lined up side by side, arms stretched overhead to follow the curve of the ceiling. The expressions were lively; surprise, shock, terror, anger, disbelief - all frozen forever in a walk-through diorama. The bodies seemed to go on forever, branching out in every direction from junctions they passed.

"Bet anyone who accidentally found this would shit themselves." Mena commented, running her fingertips over the shell-hard corpses. The monster stopped, grinning knowingly. "Good chase," it grated out, pointing along the tunnel. "Run like rat, so afraid." Dark droplets spattered from its lips as it remembered, flinching, why speech was difficult.

"You've done that? Brought them here for fun?" The girl was aglow with the idea of a hunt on home territory, even if she was unfamiliar with the terrain still. A brief, proud nod from the grey creature, and it glanced to Helen.

"This I gotta see! Let's do it." Helen was just as intrigued by the concept, and it would give her a chance to learn more about the tunnels. They turned back, began the return to the surface. A whisper of chagrin called to the back of Helen's mind, something she had wanted to find further down here - but it was gone like smoke.

As the line of bodies came to an end, the conduits became visible again. There were far fewer than there had been up top, only the two at the ceiling, and six running along the side. They came to an intersection, and Helen paused to look at the junction box. Six went in, and seven came out. She watched closely all the way to the next box, where her suspicion was confirmed. Seven went in, eight came out. _That's it. It's so simple, I just didn't see before because there were so many conduits, one more or less was unnnoticeable. _

They climbed to the next level up, and she peered at the overhead pipes, now a dusty green in the bobbing lantern's light. She could now tell what level she was on, and how far from the control room, by the map of the conduits. Even if it were dark, she could feel how many were running into and out of junction boxes, and would know which way to go. The little smile of victory snuck onto her face, and stayed there, enthroned.

They arrived at the ladder to the topmost level, and Helen stopped. Mena and the monster turned to look, and she said simply, "I'm going to do a little exploring. Just to get my bearings in here." A glance from her dark friend, at the conduits running into the distance, and she answered confidently. "I understand them now. I won't get lost. But I _will _need that lantern." The creature handed over the lantern with a smile, continued up the ladder to the electric-lit tunnels.

Mena hesitated for a moment. "I'll have to explore later, Aunt Hel. There's something I need to make if we're going to be hunting again." Helen slapped her shoulder, nodded. "See you later, then." Mena watched the pool of light surrounding her aunt's silhouette recede down the tunnel for a few seconds, then hurried to catch up with the monster.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen made her way towards the sound of the leaking pipe. It was farther off than when they had come last night, by a different route, but just discernable if she stood still. When she was moving, the scuffling sounds of her shoes on the gritty floor, the creaking of the lantern's handle, and her own breathing were her only companions. It was still as death in the tunnels, a tomb in every sense. _My favorite kind of place_, she thought with a dainty smile.

She came to an intersection, and noticed a smear on the floor which led in the direction she was headed. Something had been dragged, something large and bloody. The water was near - she was at the ladder they had used yesterday, and Helen was certain the smear wasn't there then. _So this is where he came in from last night with that half-corpse... I'm on the right track. The draft must be from an exit._

Curiosity pulled her on, past the falling water, following the runoff as it meandered alongside. The tunnel didn't have a noticeable pitch, but had to be slanted downhill just slightly. If not for the fresh-smelling breath of air from ahead, she'd be worried that this was a dead-end.

It was difficult not to hurry, to keep a careful pace, but she refrained from walking too fast in this deep darkness. _God knows what I might blunder into. _Suddenly her feet were splashing in a shallow puddle, and she looked down, trying to find the dry edge to walk along. It wasn't a puddle after all, but the beginning of an underground lake created by the draining water. Only half an inch deep here, but gradually becoming deeper as she continued, until she was wading through chilly ankle-deep water.

There had been no intersections for a long time now, not since the one near the broken pipe, but Helen saw a the black-painted rungs of a service ladder in the lantern light. Not leading down, but up. As she stopped under the round shaft, a warm breeze lifted a few hairs from her forehead, then eased to the faint draft again. Holding the lantern at arm's length behind her, she peered up the shaft. A barely discernable golden-green light seemed to illuminate the top of the shaft, which looked to be only twelve feet or so. _Odd, I thought I was about thirty feet underground._ Helen stepped onto the rungs and began climbing, hampered by the lantern, but unwilling to either leave it behind or extinguish it yet.

As she reached the top of the shaft and emerged into the cramped space, she saw daylight on green vegetation. It was only a few feet away, at the end of this stubby chamber, beyond a barred gate hanging ajar. Helen stepped past it, noticing the bent, broken padlock - not cut, her monster's handiwork - and into the hot summer daylight.

She stood on a hillside, sloping steeply down to a wide creek. Directly below her on the hill was an enormous patch of unusually lush grass, below which she could see trickles of water draining into the creek. She gave a heartfelt laugh to the ironic justice done here, by time and erosion. The creek almost certainly fed into the same river this water had been pilfered from.

The lantern blown out, Helen looked around, began climbing to the top of the hill. No buildings were in sight. As she rounded the crest, the rotting sprawl of the complex came into view, shimmering in the distance. Much more was visible in the daylight, but wasn't much worth looking at. The main building had been designed to look imposing and formal, but the mass of outbuilding and steel networks surrounding it were nothing beyond functional. She walked towards the weed-obscured road that led through the front gates, and followed it, regretting the cool creek was so far from the building.

The sign on the gate was fully legible by day. Before most of the letters had faded away, it had read 'PERTWILLA POWER & LIGHT COMPANY'. _A power plant, abandoned in the days of energy shortages?_ By her reckoning, the place had been abandoned in the late seventies - at least, none of the stuff stashed in the office was older than that. _No one would close a power plant in times like those, unless..._ She laughed to herself, reasoning the monster probably had something to do with the untimely closure. _There's a good story in that, I bet._

It took over an hour to finally reach the building, and she had to walk slower and slower as she went. The ache in her leg, the sweltering heat, and her growing hunger all conspired to draw out the journey far beyond the limits of enjoyment. She barely noticed the absence of the truck, intent only on getting back inside the cool dark of the control room.

Mena was sitting cross-legged on the floor, stitching something with relaxed concentration. She looked up to see the grumpy, sweat-stained face of her aunt as she entered and flopped into the office chair. The girl turned to gaze at the tunnel entrance, then back at her aunt, confused. Helen smiled tiredly. "Neat trick, huh? I found the back door. There's a ventilation shaft, comes up the other side of that hill out front."

"So you figured out the map, huh?" Mena said, a conspiratorial grin speading on her face as she looked down at her sewing again.

"It's so simple once you know. Right there in plain view." Helen wiped her face with a rag, and described the system of conduits and color-coded lines, how they told the distance and direction from the central control room. "I don't think there's a way to tell where you are exactly, but you can't get lost, anyway." She sighed, stood and walked stiffly to the strewn goodies from the backpack. Through a mouthful of candy bar, she continued. "I found out what this place really is, too. A power plant."

"...power plant, huh?" Mena was frowning, having trouble getting the heavy needle through a flap of leather. She looked up after a second, thinking. "We did one or two electronics projects in shop last year, but all I know is the basics. She looked up at the controls, narrowing her eyes, an idea forming. "I wonder..."

Helen laughed loudly. "Mena, Mad Scientist."

The girl chuckled, pushed the needle through, pulled the heavy waxed cord tight. "You wanna know who's a mad scientist, try your weird friend. He was dragging a bunch of those fresh ones into the tunnels, when I first started these... and he didn't look like he planned on snacking on them just yet. Then he took off, to go find us a good runner."

"So what have you been making?" Helen asked.

Holding it up, to show it fully, she described it. "I lost my grip on that guy twice last night. That's not good enough." A serious gleam cut through her eyes. "I can't let them get away." She looked at her creation. "It's claws, in a sort of gauntlet to hold it to my arm."

Mena put it on to demonstrate. It was a small leather glove with the fingers cut short. There was an extra layer of leather stitched on the back of the hand, with channels in line with the fingers. From the channels emerged four wrought iron hooks. The bends jutted out out when she clenched her fist, and the hooks were exposed when she extended her fingers. "I can get a much better grip this way." The wrist contained the bent ends of the hooks, securely stitched down, and wide straps to buckle the gauntlet to her wrist and lower arm.

Helen whistled long and low. "Dang, girl! I'm impressed." She looked thoughtful for a long moment. "That gives me an idea..." The woman started to get up, then sat down again suddenly.

Mena recoiled slightly at the look on her aunt's face. It was such a blinding flash of weakness, of unexpected dismay that Helen wore, until she remembered herself, and snapped back into stony blankness. She sat, her breathing too well controlled, her face grey.

"Aunt Hel ...? Are ...you ok?" The girl wasn't sure what she'd seen, but it looked like her aunt had tried to stand... tried and failed.

"I'm fine." Helen composed her face, answered airily. "Just got a cramp. Really." There was also a firmness behind her words, though. _Don't ask me that again._

Mena took up her gauntlets again, determined not to reveal any disquiet. As long as she could remember, shows of concern had pissed her aunt off, as though she considered pity a mortal insult. Mena couldn't help but worry. Aunt Hel had always been more than capable, physically strong, militantly independent. This had just looked... creepy.

After a few moments she saw movement out of the corner of her eye; her aunt shifted a bit, then stood easily and walked briskly away. _Well, it **was** nothing then..._

"Want me to make you some of your own?" Mena asked, not looking up. Helen had parked herself at the monster's workbench, after retrieving some small items from the office. "Mmm..." her aunt mumbled, already engrossed in a creation of her own. "No thanks." She glanced over her shoulder with a dark smile. "I prefer to let _**them**_ come to **_me_**."

Half an hour later, Mena had completed her pair of gauntlets, and grabbed the kerosene lantern. "I'm going to do a little exploring myself, before the fun starts." She shook the lantern, realized it was almost empty, and began refilling it from a metal canister.

"Wait a couple more minutes, and you can try this out down there. It's almost done..." Helen was bent over a small contraption, wrapping a wad of tiny wires in electrical tape. Mena finished her preparations and strolled over, curious. "What is it?"

Holding it up, Helen turned it so the girl could see. It consisted of theheadset from a cd player, a small device attached just over each ear. "Tunnel vision." She snorted at her own bad pun. "It's headlamps, sort of, so we can see in the dark without having to carry lanterns around, or flashlights if we had good batteries." The woman pointed out the details. "I put two red LED pointers on it, powered by watch batteries." There were several of the pill-sized batteries soldered together and taped on. "Took forever to find ones with juice left, but those things last for years. I'm thinking the LED's will only show you what you're looking directly at, they won't actually light up the tunnel. You press here," she gestured at a button taped to one earphone, "to turn them on."

Mena took the device, inspected it closely, then she fit it on her head so that it was snug. She gave her aunt a bright smile; the headset weighed almost nothing, and was hands-free. "Go on then," Helen said. "Let me know how it works." The girl slipped quickly into the tunnel system, barely able to contain her anticipation of the excitement ahead. Her aunt noticed with a wry smile though, that Mena had kept hold of the kerosene lantern.

Helen turned back to the table, and began assembling the second headset, humming to herself.

x-x-x-x-x

The sun was starting to sink under the horizon when Helen finished her headset and sat down to gnaw on some shrivelled trail rations, washing them down with swigs from the nearly-drained bottle of scotch. Mena had stuck her head into the control room once, breathless and beaming, to report that the lights worked well, then disappeared again to continue her explorations.

Helen put on a record, and outfitted herself for the evening's entertainment; good shoes for running quietly, clothes that didn't rustle audibly, weaponry strapped on. She was restless, hated waiting, but it always ended up being worthwhile to wait for her monster's return. The last of the scotch filled up a steel hip flask perfectly, and she shoved it in a back pocket, adding a strip of jerky and her painkillers as a last thought. _We might be down there all night, _she thought hopefully.

She heard a distinct thud from above. Helen's heart began pounding softly in response, ready for the action to come. There was a heavy silence for a minute, then a series of muffled metallic bangs as something large tumbled down a ventilation duct. With a final crash, a man burst head-first through the grating at the end of the sheet-metal duct, and rolled to a stop at one side of the control room, not far from the tunnel entrance. The man groaned, coughing and sputtering in a cloud of dust.

The monster had chosen well. Here was one of those who prospered on the same things Helen found revolting. A man in a tailored suit and silk tie, wearing expensive cologne and a watch that cost more than a car. He wore his smug self-satisfaction like a medal of honor; _'not only do I deserve my easy life, but it shows me to be superior, morally and physically'_. By his looks, he took good care of his health, probably exercized in a gym, jogged on carefully manicured park paths.

Helen couldn't wait to show him the error of his ways.

She began tiptoeing towards him, hoping to catch him unawares with a kick in the head. A shuffling sound behind her, and the creature was striding past, pulling off its coat. The dust-smudged man looked up, misery and confusion new to his world, and saw - mouth dropping open - the unbelievable thing coming straight at him. His wide eyes stayed locked on the monster as his head snapped back and forth, trying to make the hallucination disappear. "No... no... get away from me... what do you want!"

The grey creature roared and lunged towards the man, just a feint, but more than enough to send the man scrambling back. He whirled and saw the tunnel passage behind him, and needed no more incentive to flee down the only escape route apparent. The slaps of his hard-soled dress shoes receded into the endless passageway.

Helen laughed soundlessly, looking to her monster. It grinned back, motioned with its eyes for her to join the chase. She grabbed her headset and dove into the tunnel after the man at a leisurely pace. First thing to do was to drive him down to the lower levels. Mena was already down there, and would hear the man coming from a mile away.

She wondered which would be worse for the guy: running into the monster in the dark, or into Mena.

Helen stood still for a moment, listening. The faint sounds of the man's heavy breathing, sobs, whimpers, and panicked footfalls were easy to follow. She had seen the dark shape of her creature slip into a side passage behind her, making his way around to cut off the man's escape. When he saw the monster ahead of him, he'd turn and run right back towards her. If she played it right, they could force him to go down one of the service ladders.

She unsheathed the machete strapped across her back, held it low at her side as she padded along. The man was still floundering along, pausing at each intersection, then scrambling down a random tunnel. He was completely lost by now. She heard him pause, cry out unintelligibly, and begin running in the opposite direction. He'd sighted the monster, probably standing in the half-shadow between two of the caged lights. Her face widened in predatory anticipation.

Helen began walking slowly towards the approaching sound of pounding shoes and gasping breaths, scraping the tip of her machete against the tunnel wall. The deep metallic grating echoed along the passage, almost drowned out the noise the man made as he rounded a corner and saw her.

The expression on his face melted from terror to hope, as he momentarily mistook her for help against his inhuman assailant. He took a step towards her, then several hasty steps back, as he saw her better, read her body language. Despair climbed over his face, and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of an impossible situation.

Helen darted after him, and he wheeled, sped away with surprising agility. _Yes, a good runner. This will be an excellent chase. _The monster was already heading its prey off again, and the man turned, panicking and indecisive, trapped between two closing threats. He spotted the nearest service shaft, a ladder leading down to the next level, and dove for it, unaware he was descending into utter dark.

She and the creature approached the ladder, heard the moan of realization from below. They shared a glance as Helen resheathed her machete and turned her headlamp on. The monster grabbed a handful of cables running along the top of the tunnel and yanked downwards. A burst of blue sparks accompanied sudden darkness. It was as good as slamming a trapdoor shut on the man below; he wouldn't see any light to climb toward. Helen turned to the ladder, making it out in the red beams, and climbed down after the man.

The man stumbled along in the dark, needing desperately to get far, far away. He felt his way along, scuffing his shoulder against the hard walls, ran hard into a heavy square object projecting into the passage. He lost his balance and fell, twisting to avoid landing on his face. Rolling onto his back, saw something approaching the way he had just come - red eyes, glowing in the dark, coming towards him at a determined, easy pace. A malicious chuckle drifted his way. _Oh my god there are more ...**things** down here! _He scrambled to his feet again, his slick shoes finding little traction on the gritty floor. No time to feel his way along, he let himself be battered as he crashed back and forth against the side walls.

Something soft turned under his foot, and he fell heavily, unprepared. His head whipped around in all directions, but he could see nothing, hear no sounds of pursuit. He felt along the floor for what he had tripped over, and froze when his hand touched skin. It was cool, ...and still. He ran his fingers farther onto it, recognizing an arm. Where the arm should meet shoulder, an abrupt sticky vacancy. A wail of disgust burst from his lungs before he could stop himself. The echoes bounced and rang through the tunnels; after a few long seconds they were answered by mocking howls... from several directions.

The man struggled to his feet again, floundered on, though there was no way to tell if he was moving away from or towards the chasers. Only a few steps forward, he stumbled over a large soft object again, but didn't stop to touch it this time. _Bodies...there are bodies down here... dead people... I can't be here... this shouldn't be happening to me. _

He ran on, becoming aware that he was being very closely followed. Whatever it was was almost silent. Almost, but it made tiny scratchings and tappings, and barely audible growls. He felt a wall at his side, and then a huge rough hand brushed against his head, tickled him under the chin with sharp claws. Jerking back, he fell into a service shaft, bouncing painfully against the ladder's rungs the entire way down. The floor came slamming up against him without mercy. Nothing was broken, but everything hurt.

It was just as dark down here... but no, there was a light, _oh god a light!_ A crazy laugh dribbled from a bleeding lip, laugh of hope that he might get out alive. He began crawling towards the distant warm glow, never taking his eyes from it. Whatever had been chasing him before didn't seem to be following him now. _Maybe the light will keep it away from me, _he thought desperately.

The light was on the floor, a steady flame that gave off a bright, welcoming illumination. He was a few feet from it before he recognised it - an antique kerosene lantern, the kind railroad men and farmers once used. It definitely didn't belong down here, but then again, neither did he. _Who left it here, lit for me to find? Who cares? _He grabbed the wire handle and held the lantern in front of him, jogging forward, looking for the nearest ladder leading up.

Mena paced silently behind, far beyond the circle of light. She knew what he was looking for, and smiled wickedly. There were no more service shafts in this section. The only thing he would find was just past the next intersection.

Sure enough, he let out a yelp of revulsion when he spied the fresh remains scattered along the tunnel floor. The monster had brought several of the bodies down earlier in the day, torn them apart, and left them strewn about. She'd seen the little surprise, wanted to make sure their prey saw it, too, as well as the best part just beyond. The man was walking right into the monster's charnel house, and she followed, ready to block his retreat.

Once he turned, started to run back the way he had come, but the sight of red eyes in the blackness of the tunnel changed his mind. He stopped in his tracks, his face a caricature of superstitious dread, backed up a few steps, then turned again. Mena slowed to a stop as the pool of light drew away; all she had to do now was wait.

She was shortly rewarded by a desperate sob. She could see the man far along the passageway, but could only imagine his face as he staggered among the posed corpses.

"...No... No!..." his protests were appealed to a deaf, lifeless audience. _This kind of thing can't happen in this day and age - this is... **impossible**. _The horror hit him like a blow, that he would soon be joining this parade of death. He was struck dumb for a long moment, then found his voice, the voice of authority with which he ruled a corporate kingdom.

"I DON'T BELONG HERE!" he bellowed to no one, to all the gaping statues, to his captors. With that declaration, he bolted straight back towards Mena. She crouched at the ready.

The man pounded past her, unseeing, only bent on one thing - escape. She reached out as he flew by, swung her arm out with hand open, and was physically gratified as hooks met, bit into flesh. His momentum sank her hooks deep into his ankles, jerking her arm painfully, and throwing him headlong. The lantern clattered aside and began leaking kerosene, which ignited in a pool of gold and violet flames.

His scream was deafening, full of rage and frustration; he had been sidetracked from the most important mission of his life. He kicked out, loosening her grip, and scrambled to his feet again, limping but determined. The man only got two steps before she leapt and sank her hooks into his arms.

Mena swung him around to face her, her homemade claws digging a fresh grip. In the flickering light of the kerosene, he finally saw his enemy - a pretty young thing, skinny and angry. Two bright red points of light came from the homemade device on her head... those red eyes! She sneered at him, dug her hooks deeply into his upper arm as he struggled to free himself. _What the hell is going on here?..._ "Why are you doing this to me?" he sputtered out.

"Because your kind," she said, fingering the lapel of his suit, "make me ashamed." Mena looked him up and down with obvious distaste. "...so ignorant, so helpless, so useless ...inflicting your own whitewashed violence with smug words and cowardice."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Besides, he likes his meals all worked up." She glanced at something over his shoulder.

The monster was skittering towards them across the curved arch of the ceiling. The man turned to look, thought it was some revoltingly monstrous spider or insect at first. Mena released him, and stepped out of the way; a half-second later the creature pounced and knocked the man to the floor.

She watched, fascinated, as the monster crouched on top of the man, smelling him vigorously, intently about the head and face. The man lay whimpering and moaning, from the stench that joined the kerosene-reek, he had soiled himself in abject terror. Then the pitful moans turned to muffled screams as the monster turned its head sideways, jaws wide, and chomped down on man's face. Tendons stood out in both necks.

The monster's feet began digging into the man's abdomen, talons ripped into soft flesh. One final kick, and the man's belly was laid open, glistening, then there was a wet crunch as the head tore free from his body.

Mena fell to her knees heaving and vomiting, trying to purge herself of the sight. The creature's savagery had been so stark in that one moment. She had known well what would happen, but it was awful to watch, and struck something inside her that reviled in protest. Above all else, this creature was a monster. It had only one purpose, and that was to kill, and eat, humans ...and as little as she wanted to admit kinship with some of them, she was a human, too.

"Shit, that was seriously gross." She panted for few minutes, spat and wiped her mouth clean.

The monster consumed its feast quickly, shoving chunks of the man's flesh into its jaws. The bones were tossed aside, another pile among the dusty scattering already strewn along the passage floor. Mena coughed at the cloying stench of burning kerosene, but the flames were already dying down, having nothing else to ignite. The creature looked up at the noise, as though it had forgotten her presence, and tore off a last muscle from the carcass, offered it to her. She stared at the glistening thing for a moment, considering. "No thanks. ...I've kind of lost my appetite."

It gaped at her for a long moment, looking aghast at the idea, but then shrugged and finished off the meal. Mena took a deep breath. It had certainly been a most exciting hunt, far beyond her imagination, even with the gory conclusion. Maybe the excitement had just made her stomach funny. _Bet Aunt Hel had fun with this guy, too..._

"Where's Aunt Hel? She missed the best part." It wasn't like her aunt to stay in the background. In the red beams of her headset, she saw the creature look up, raise its head to sniff the air. It dropped the ragged cluster of bone and sinew in its grip, sniffed more intently. Mena began to have misgivings when the monster took off at a hurried pace, and she trotted behind, struggling to keep the dark form in sight.

She had lost the creature's shape in her red lights when a metallic clink sounded from ahead, and she turned her head in time to see a taloned foot disappear into a service shaft leading up. Running to the ladder, Mena clambered up to the next level; she spotted the monster far along the tunnel, pausing to sniff the air before it turned down a side passage. The girl ran after it, dodging the severed limbs scattered like dirty laundry.

Mena rounded the corner hearing her aunt's voice in the distance - it sounded strained, out of breath, then it went quiet. She began to make out vague shapes ahead, then was able to identify them. Aunt Hel, lying on the floor against the tunnel wall. The monster, crouched over her. Its face was mashed into the woman's still form. _No, oh fuck no, it's **eating** her... _A trembling groan of horror spilled from her mouth as she ran towards them, unsheathing her sword.

"**_Get offa her!_**" Mena yelled, raising her sword to defend her aunt. But as she drew close, the creature raised its head. There was no blood, no bites missing from Aunt Hel's body. "Broken." The monster's gruff word explained and baffled at the same time.

"Broken? Broken what? And how?" She slowly lowered her weapon, kneeled at her aunt's head. This was almost as disturbing as thinking the monster had been snacking on the woman. Aunt Hel, helpless. Aunt Hel, broken. The strongest woman in her world, fallen apart like a melted snowman. The creature pointed at Helen's thigh. Mena realized the leg was twisted oddly.

She dropped her sword with a clang, started patting the woman's face. "Aunt Hel... wake up... wake up!" The skin was clammy, and her aunt's breathing was shallow, but she roused quickly. "Wha... whad issis, payback? Why can' ya jus' lemme sleep it off..."

Mena didn't like the struggling sound in that voice, behind the petulance. "What happened to you, Aunt Hel? What's wrong?"

"Broke m' leg. Bad..., yeah... had t' take buncha pills... just don' touch i..." But it was too late, Mena had already taken off her harness and was trying to bind her aunt's legs together with it, to use the good leg as a splint. Helen let out such a scream of agony that Mena fell back, shaking. The woman seemed to slip unconscious again, but her breathing remained fast and labored.

"We have to get her out of here!" she shouted at the monster, who looked at her, perplexed. "She's in shock. We have to get her to a hospital. RIGHT NOW!" The creature wasted no time, unfurled a wing and scooped Helen up, held her tightly bound form across its back, and grabbed Mena around the waist with one arm. She was yanked off her feet before she could react, but as the creature began running along the tunnel, she understood - no time to wait for her to follow.

It took the shortest route to the surface, out to the truck. The monster shoved Mena in, plopped down on the crate that served as the driver's seat, holding Helen's wing-wrapped body off to the side. It started the truck and tore down the weedy road at a speed Mena never would have attempted - she was sure all four tires left the ground a few times.

"Hang on, Aunt Hel," she said to her aunt's drooping face. "I know you hate doctors, but shit, bones don't just break."

**_End of Chapter 11_**

**_

* * *

_**

A/N: I would really love to hear from any readers. Constructive criticism is very welcome. Is there anything in the story that is unclear? Awkward? Boring or too wordy? Painfully smarmy? I'm just writing this for fun, but I'd like to be writing **_well_**, obsessive as I am even in hobbies, so please talk to me.

The march that Helen plays to wake Mena up is the 'Liberty Bell March', better known as the Monty Python theme.


	12. Chapter 12

My regards to Cole Porter, who wrote 'I Get A Kick Out Of You'

****

Chapter 12

Helen came to in the emergency room, sterile alcohol-scented air reviving her as much as the ministrations of terse medics. "How the fuck did I get** here**?" she tried to mumble, but the tube in her throat strangled the words. The pain had settled to a dull distance, a mountain over her shoulder, but not crashing down over her anymore.

_Great, just great... the one place where people don't give a fuck what **I** want, and they are fiddling with my body! _She tried to lift her hand to remove the tube, but her arm felt detached, wandered around in the air drunkenly before flopping against her face. A medic noticed her movement, said curtly, "She's waking up," while taking her wrist in a cold hand, and strapping it down to the table. Helen attempted a growl, but all that came out was a coughing gurgle.

A slightly older medic stepped into her vision, stooping slightly to look in her face. From the louder-than-necessary and somewhat condescending tone, she figured he must be the resident in charge, the only one required to have any bedside manner. "Ms. Murdoch. You're alright, but you need to keep still. We're just stabilizing you right now." He glanced back at the other medics, all busy with their tasks. "Are you in any pain?"

She managed to laugh, just short huffs past the tube. _What a **stupid** question._ She rolled her eyes in response, and the doctor frowned slightly, offended. At that same moment, a medic applied tension to her leg, pulling it straight. Helen groaned, her eyes rolling back, and slid into unconsciouness again.

x-x-x-x-x

The chase was going beautifully, the man floundering around in the dark tunnels, tripping over arms, legs. His nice suit wasn't so nice anymore; Helen could see in her red beams the jagged tears and scuffs. He turned to look blindly over his shoulder a few times, sweat and grime-streaked face twisted by disbelief and disorientation.

She darted down a side tunnel to race around in front of him, and cut off his path. He was blundering in darkness, it would be easy to circle around.

With no warning, a sensation like knives drove into her leg.

The fierce pain shot lightning-hot through her; she lost control of her muscles and fell headlong. Helen scarcely felt the impact through the suffocating agony, though it began to ebb, ever so slowly. She lay panting, wondering in haze if a monster, a different monster with massive jaws, was clamped to her hip - that's what it felt like.

Finally her mind emerged from the swamp of pain, regaining enough reason to reach for the bottle of painkillers in her back pocket. Even twisting to pull it out sent fresh waves of brittle grinding through her leg, but she managed to get it to her face, and shoved several in her mouth, swallowing hard, unsucessfully. _Got to get them down..._ She fumbled for the flask, nudged aside on the floor. It was difficult to drink from in her position - face down, but she sucked down enough to finally swallow, then relaxed and tried to be patient. Every second pounded by at a snail's pace, mocking her with drawn-out torture.

After a time - she couldn't tell how long it had been - Helen realized she felt numb, the pain had retreated somewhat. She rolled onto her side, and the monster re-awoke, but stayed caged within its territory - her leg. She raised her head to look down at it... it was facing the wrong way. She had to look away just to keep from throwing up. It added up now. Her leg was broken. And not just broken, but shattered.

_That damn doctor told me this would happen sooner or later... I just hoped it would be later. _And he hadn't told her it **would** happen, only that it was a possibility, if she continued to ignore it. She'd hated the alternatives he had spelled out, though, decided to let it run its course. _Did I do the wrong thing? Better a maybe than being overmedicated, a surgical guinea pig, an invalid at fifty-two. But now it's down to that anyway. I'm just screwed._

She wondered if her monster would kill her, now that she wasn't going to be any fun anymore. Definitely wouldn't be running, or chasing, maybe even walking. In hindsight, she recalled the monster had been struggling with its instincts last night. _Have I been an idiot, not seeing what's going on right in front of me?_ A realization began to take form.

It only hunts down those who smell like food. It hunted **me** down, at first anyway, until I turned the tables. Therefore... I must have smelled like food.

When she'd asked it why it didn't eat her, all those years ago, its answer was that she was a predator, too, not a prey animal. But when a predator can no longer hunt... they become the hunted. The thought didn't sadden her - it certainly would be a better way to die than in a car crash, or from cancer. _Being stuffed and mounted on its wall would be fine by me, we had some good times, and I know it would give me a good pose. _She smiled at the image that sprang to mind. _I hope Mena won't take it badly. I think she'll understand. _

Helen was actually starting to feel good now. Happy, excited, waiting for the monster to come and complete her exit. Her body floated alongside as an afterthought. A song bubbled up from her throat, and she crooned it to the echoing tunnel.

"I... get no kick... from champagne! Mere... alcohol... doesn't thrill me at all, so tell me, why should it be true... that I get a kick... out of you..."

As if on cue, her dark creature came trotting out of the shadows, bent over her. She blinked sluggishly. "Hey sexy. Godda special place f'r a broken toy?" Her lips seemed to get stuck as she spoke. The monster crouched close, sniffing at her, zeroed in on the crushed leg. "You're hard on us humans, ya know..." She had to work hard to get the words out, felt like she was shouting, but her voice came out barely audible. The red illumination faded, darkness swallowed her.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena hated this place, hated being here, hated that she'd brought her aunt here. There had been no choice, though. She had carried Aunt Hel in across her back, staggering in through the emergency room doors while the monster drove off to park. At least they hadn't made her wait, had taken Helen immediately, and sat Mena down in an empty treatment room to get the pertinent information.

"She's my aunt, she was in the basement and I found her like this. I think she was there for a while, she took some pain pills..." The nurse wrote everything down with painfully slow precision. "Listen... is she gonna be ok? What the hell happened to her? Is her leg really broken?"

"The doctor will be in to speak with you in a while. Just wait here, please." With that the nurse coolly turned and walked out; the door hissed shut behind her.

Mena paced around the small, odorless room, feeling trapped in an enemy stronghold. Everything her eyes landed on was wrong, screamed the hubris of technology and progress. She desperately wanted to run back outside, into the open air of the night, but at the first step towards the door, she stopped. _Can't abandon Aunt Hel to this place, alone. And I'm the one that brought her here, she's more at the mercy of these fucks than I am. _

Guilt began to eat at her. _She's gonna hate me for bringing her here, but what else could I do? _There was no alternative, and the frustration of being caught in such a hateful situation boiled in her. To crumble at the first stroke, to admit dependence on modern science and society... it was humiliating.

The door opened abruptly, and a tall middle-aged woman swept in; she wore cheery scrubs and a stethoscope, a name tag on her chest. She glanced at her clipboard before holding out her hand. "Mena? I'm Dr. Allen." Mena took the hand reluctantly, studying this woman with a distrustful eye.

"Please have a seat." Dr. Allen had a sharp voice that expected obedience. "I understand you brought your aunt in." Mena nodded, waited. "She's in recovery at the moment, doing well. We'll move her to a ward in an hour or so."

"Ms. Murdoch has multiple subtrochanteric fractures of her right femur..." Reading the blank stare on the girl's face, she looked down her nose, explained. "You aunt has a broken hip. Unusual in a woman her age, and the damage was severe enough that reconstructing the bone will allow for minimal functionality. Fortunately, there appears to be little damage to the nerves and blood vessels in the region, though she may suffer from loss of sensation for a time." The doctor paused in her stream of medicalese.

Mena blinked. "What are you saying? Her leg is so badly broken she won't be able to **_use_** it? How can that happen?" It made her sick to even hear this.

The doctor gave a small, impatient sigh. "Did your aunt never discuss her condition with you? I understand you are close..."

"What condition? All she ever said was that her hip was sore... I figured it was arthritis or something."

"According to her records, Ms. Murdoch was diagnosed with Paget's disease many years ago, and has been refusing any treatment other than pain management."

Mena shook her head slowly, not understanding; the doctor continued, "It's a localized degenerative bone disease. Normally not so destructive if it's treated, but in your aunt's case, the affected bone tissue became highly brittle. She was cautioned about the risks, but chose not to undergo treatment."

_Of course she would never mention this to me._ "And what did the treatment involve?" Mena had a feeling her aunt had good reason to be so stubborn.

"A series of surgeries to keep the abnormal bone growth in check, and a regimen of medication to strengthen the bone. Some of the treatments would have involved bi-weekly injections into the bone itself, but she could've had those done at her local physician's office. Very careful exercise to avoid overstressing damaged tissue was recommended."

The doctor paused. "She hasn't been running, has she?" She cast an accusatory look at Mena.

"Um, ..." Mena was caught off guard in her plummeting descent into the reality of the situation. She fumbled to pull herself together; she had to be ready for the uncertain near future, ready to grab its reins and take control. 'The Unexpected!' was her aunt's battle cry, after all. She took a deep breath, sat up straight. "Well, what happens next, then?"

"We've scheduled a surgery for first thing tomorrow morning, as soon as the regular surgical staff arrives. It has to be done right away, to decrease the risk of further damage and clotting. That surgery will stabilize what's left of the femur. They'll install some hardware as well, to provide rudimentary support during the healing." The doctor pursed her lips slightly. "Normal hip replacement surgery is simply not an option at this point. Your aunt's condition progressed to a degree that it caused too much damage to both femur and socket. There's just not enough good tissue left with which to work."

Mena steeled herself for the next question. She looked straight into the doctor's eyes, demanding an honest answer. "Will she be able to walk?" She almost didn't want to know, in case the truth was a horrible "no".

"Well, if the surgery passes without complications, she will be able to begin physical therapy in a few days. However, without a series of prosthetic implants, she will never be able to bear weight on the leg, free of external support." Dr. Allen flipped through the papers in her clipboard, came to one covered in tiny print. "Your aunt is a retired librarian, I see? I'm sure she would qualify for assistance..." Mena ignored the subtle slight. "If Ms. Murdoch will agree to sign herself up for InsureUS Plan A, we can help her continue to live a normal life."

The derisive laughter which burst from Mena's throat brought the doctor's steely glare to attention.

The health care reforms of the last couple of decades had resulted in an uneasy compromise: everyone could get health care, but only if you were willing to either take the bare necessity or sign yourself up for government research. The three plans offered were Plan C, for those who had money to pay for part of their own care; Plan B, the bare-bones treatment for survival, for those who could not afford it; and Plan A, in which the government would finance better treatment options in exchange for the right to choose the treatment. Basically, you lost your own say in your health care. It had already become a major source of medical research subjects.

"My aunt's life is neither normal, nor would she **_ever_** agree to be a guinea pig."

Dr. Allen raised an eyebrow, narrowing her eyes at this scruffy young rebel. "Well. I'll talk with her myself when she awakens, and see what she thinks. Perhaps this event will have changed her perspective, don't you think?"

"Fine, ask her. But she won't be as nice about it."

The woman stood, making clear that the discussion was at an end. "You are welcome to visit your aunt tomorrow afternoon. She'll be recovering from surgery during the day, but should be awake later on, though she'll be in need of rest. I suggest you keep your visit brief, and not overexcite your aunt." They shook hands, the chilly ritual of unspoken understanding between two new opponents.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena trudged to the parking lot, heaving great breaths of mingled relief and trepidation. _Aunt Hel, out of commision for... who knows how long. What a god-awful thing to happen to her. _She spotted the ancient rusty bulk of the monster's truck far off in a pool of darkness. _And now... now I guess all we can do is go home._

Exhaustion from unexpected anxiety ate at her. She reached the truck, and tapped twice on the driver's side door. It opened, the darkness within adorned by shifting shadows and the rustling of movement. The monster's savage face appeared. It was chewing, swallowing; Mena saw the headless body lying across the creature's lap.

"She has to stay here for now." Mena sighed, resigned and bone-tired. "Let's go." The creature turned to stare at the hospital for a long moment, then stretched out a bony hand and lifted her up by the arm, set her in the cab beside the cooling corpse. The truck roared to life and backed out, leaving a space empty of all but a dark puddle, congealing on the asphalt beside the next car.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen swam in an inky ocean. It felt thick, cold, gel-like, and she struggled to move through the murk. The ooze pulled at her limbs; her arms wouldn't respond, her legs were sucked at and stretched, lengthening grotesquely into the distance. She gathered her strength and kicked hard, willed herself to the surface; a matter of deciding to survive.

She felt her skin again, the cool air of a hospital room, the weight of sheets and a thin blanket. Helen sucked in breaths, trying to clear her head, to remember what was going on. The memory returned like an unwanted suitor, and she moaned, frustrated with the unpleasant truth. A warmth and a movement of air nearby prompted her to open her eyes.

A nurse in green scrubs was checking her IV, writing down the readings on various monitors. A sudden spike in heart rate made her glance at the patient; seeing the hooded but focused eyes, she bent closer. "Ms. Murdoch, can you hear me?"

Helen croaked at first - the tube was gone but her throat was dry. "Of course I can hear you. I'm not deaf." She struggled to lift her head, look down. _If they took my leg off I'll kill every last one of them... _But the leg was there, encased in a rig of straps to keep it immobile. "Where's Mena?" _Hope **she** didn't kill anyone... yet._

"Your niece, the girl who brought you in?" the nurse asked, and Helen nodded once. "We sent her home a couple of hours ago. She'll be in to visit you tomorrow..." A nervous look passed over the nurse's face; she glanced at the door and back to Helen. Bending closer, she confided, "I was in the ER when you came in. I saw..." She struggled to find her words, lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do you need a rape kit, Ms. Murdoch?"

Helen raised an eyebrow very slowly. The nurse tried to rescue her question. "They had to remove your pants, and I saw the... the scratches, and bruises, and... what appeared to be some rather nasty bites." She swallowed, shocked at her own frankness. "Looks like you've had... rough treatment."

An abrasive laugh bubbled from Helen's mouth, filling her lungs with vigor and waking her up fully. "Ahhh, heh hehh. What's the matter, don't you like it rough sometimes?" She winked, still chuckling. The nurse's face turned a bright red. Helen managed to level her tone. "Don't get your panties in a wad. Unless one of those doctors stuck their finger up my ass while I was under, then no, I don't need a rape kit." Impossibly, the nurse's face flushed deeper, and she turned, hurried out of the room.

"That's right, run away," Helen grumbled after her. "Run away while I can't chase you."

End of Chapter 12


	13. Chapter 13

**WARNING**: Smut again, finally! Explicit sex and bloodplay, not for the squeamish or those of tender constitution, or of tender age who SHOULD NOT BE READING THIS.

_Chapter 13_

Mena slept fitfully, harried by nervous dreams and the occasional noise of the monster coming and going. Every time she opened her eyes it was eating voraciously. The memory returned unbidden, of teeth and claws ripping a man apart, pearly entrails spilling from a ragged abdomen. She saw the creature in a new light, after that ghastly execution. A monster, truly; vicious, brutal, merciless, and above all, hungry. Mena wondered uneasily if the monster was eating so much to relieve the temptation to eat _her_, now that Aunt Hel was away.

She lay awake for a long time before getting up. _What am I gonna do now? _Her only human companion miles away, her host a dangerous - but thrilling - creature. _I'm sure we can get up to some mischief, just the two of us, ...but it'll take some getting used to. _

Mena finally opened her eyes - it was quite dim in the control room, only the intimate glow of a few candles near the stainless steel worktable. The monster's hunched form sat on a stool, its wing-framed back to her while it carved on a bone.

Sitting up slowly, she felt a familiar warm drip, the ache of cramps. _Oh nice. And I don't even have any clean undies left._ She kneeled beside her backpack rummaging for a tampon, happened to glance over at the monster. It was perfectly still, except for the chest, which twitched spasmodically with rapid inhalations.

Just like when it pounced on that guy last night, and sniffed his head.

The savage face turned slowly, to meet her gaze. The monster's eyes were glazed with hunger. Blood ran out of Mena's face. _Oh shit... I'm dead meat._

She desperately looked around, searching for somewhere to run. It was hopeless, though, and she knew she had no chance of outrunning the monster anyway. She steeled herself for the impact, seeing the grey shape descending upon her with frightening speed. It knocked her down, easily dodged her flailing limbs. Mena couldn't stop herself from crying out wordlessly; she struggled to push the eager, ravenous thing away, but it wouldn't budge. It sniffed frantically all over her, homing in on her crotch with a growl.

Rough, thick claws tore at her shorts, shredded them open, and the creature pushed its furrowed face into her groin, inhaling deeply. Mena was horrified, didn't want those teeth **anywhere** near her privates - _oh fuck!..._ She almost squealed. _...Its going to eat me alive, from the inside out!_ She wailed as the monster dug claws into her thighs, pulling them apart, but she wasn't prepared for the melting, sticky-sweet sensation that followed. The monster drew a languorous, tenative tongue along her lower lips, tasting the blood that moistened them, then it closed its whole mouth over her.

She felt like her whole body was liquefied, electric molten pleasure coursed through her. She still wasn't altogether sure she'd mistaken the monster's intent, but if this was its appetizer, ...maybe being a meal wouldn't be so bad. Having seen those long, sharp teeth crowding its black mouth, she'd never have imagined it could do this without causing horrible mutilation. An occasional scrape of teeth against her moist, swelling folds only served to intensify her sensations, a heart-racing reminder that at any second it could just take a huge bite out of her.

The monster's grunts reverberated through her flesh as it squeezed her closer, mashed its face against her delicate cleft. Its tongue wandered, snaking all around, in and out of soft furrows, deep inside her. It lapped with desperate urgency, breathing heavily. Mena's limbs were tangled among the creature's, she could feel the tense strength in that inhuman body. She gasped deeply, unable to move, as the monster's lip pressed at her tiny pearl. Sensing her reaction, the creature pressed harder, leering through slick folds.

Mena came hard, orgasm crashing down on her, smothering her. Her body arched painfully, heaving against the monster's solid bulk, before her pleasure slowly released her, allowed her to take great gulping breaths. Aching cramps had metamorphosed into deep contractions, sweeter than honey. They subsided slow as a tide, drawn out by the persistent tongue, which continued to delve and curl within her. The monster had slowed to a more relaxed pace, but gave no sign of letting up, rather seemed to be settling in for a leisurely meal.

Its body entwined with hers, half-laying over her. The monster kneaded her thighs and buttocks, frantic grunts having given way to deep purring growls. Mena turned her sweat-glossed head aside, her slitted eyes resting on the creature's loins, hovering close. Through the weird nest of white hair, its knobby grey cock stood, stiff and pulsing faintly. One of the monster's legs passed over her shoulder, and she was able to crane her neck, get nearer the trembling organ.

It didn't look like any other pecker she'd ever seen, not just because of its disarming color, but it had the same odd, lumpy texture as the monster's skin. Still, the way it stretched so eagerly, it was irresistible. She breathed on it, then took the tip between her lips.

The monster jerked instantly, and Mena felt a sharp pain between her legs. It released her, turning to look at her, astonished. Its face was smeared with blood, and it licked its lips absently. The wicked gleam returned to its eyes, and it sat up, bending over Mena, sniffing aggressively at her face. A red-streaked tongue ran along her chin, her jawline, and the monster growled while smelling again.

To her dismay, it began to turn away, to resume its earlier feast. She couldn't wait any longer, and before it imprisoned her with its weight she jumped up, pushed the grey beast off balance. It tumbled aside, caught off guard, and Mena threw herself atop it, quickly snaking her legs around the monster's so that it couldn't easily dislodge her. It whined angrily, but grasped her hips in steely hands, shoved her down onto its hungry cock.

Mena arched back with the rough fullness, her hands braced on the creature's muscled stomach, and ground herself against its pelvis. The monster thrust back, hard and sharp, and then she saw its wings moving, not quite unfurling, but reaching around like two nightmarish, bony hands to grasp her. It pushed itself upright, still clutching her tightly, pulling at her hips. Mena's legs were wound firmly around it, but her upper body shuddering and loose, supported only by the leathery fingers of its wingtips. The monster bucked into her furiously, snarling and hissing, and put a spread hand on her chest, holding her away; a remote part of Mena's mind was grateful for that.

When it lunged towards her, just snapping at the air between them, she howled, stricken with ecstasy. Mena fell back, her taut body pushing out of the wings' embrace, the impact with the floor squeezing the last cry of pleasure from her lungs. Pounding against her with abandon, the creature seemed to be trying to crawl inside her, or split her in two. It shook violently, bared its teeth to the air, let out an anguished groan, became still. In the silence that followed, Mena became aware of the wild hammering of her heart, so loud she could almost hear the echoes in the vast room.

The creature released her, clawtips moist from where they had dug in, and she grimaced when she saw the monster's groin, a bright red stain on stringy white hairs. She winced as it slid from her, sore from the monster's nip and their mutual fervor, and she began to get up, but the creature had other ideas. It pushed her back and made to return to its earlier feast; she protested feebly, half inclined to let it have its way. As it bent down over her crotch, Mena's stomach grumbled loudly. The monster looked at her, chastised, and she laughed. "Yeah, sex makes me hungry, too."

It let her up this time, and she stumbled bow-legged to her dwindling pile of snacks. The creature followed, staying close, even rubbing against her as she sat on her heels and ate. _Shit, it's like a cat on catnip. How weird is that... _The dark, bony head was drawn irrestistably to her blood-smeared loins. Finally it tore its attention away, looking befuddled, and gathered a few hasty items for a trip out. It was still licking the last of her taste from its face as it fled to find a meal.

Mena finished her breakfast, then gathered a few fresh clothes for a trip to the leaking pipe. She cleaned herself up carefully, hoping the monster wouldn't act that way for the next week. Not that it would be so bad, ...just...creepy. _Maybe plugging myself with a tampon will help. I'll have to ask Aunt Hel about this..._

She frowned, worry returning in a chilly wave. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the past few days, living with a carnivorous monster, hunting with it, ...fucking it.

And this was her aunt's 'man', Aunt Hel's Special Guy. It was more than just a little disturbing how easily Mena had been included in this relationship. She knew her aunt better than most, knew she wasn't inclined to share her personal life with anyone. Neither of them seemed to be bothered in the least, yet there **_was_** a mysterious connection between Aunt Hel and her bloodthirsty creature; they were like an old married couple sometimes, not even needing words to convey their attraction, their devotion to one another.

Mena was sure no such connection bound herself and the monster. Her aunt seemed to understand the creature, even trust it. The girl found the monster tantalizing and charismatic, like Aunt Hel did, but at the same time somewhat... horrible. She had a sneaking suspicion the creature would have no qualms about killing and eating her, only refrained so as not to upset her aunt. Yet... it hadn't tried to eat her in the hours they'd been alone together.

_Well..._ Her lips curled up.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen lay on a hard steel table. The air was cold, but her skin felt numb, disconnected. **No, not my skin, ...me**. **I'm not attached to my body the way I should be**. She was mostly nude, and didn't care. A doctor, or that's what he seemed to be, was doing something to her body. Implanting black metal rods, creating new joints, grossly elongating her bones. She distantly understood that she was the subject of a mad scientist's experiment, a creation, no longer either human nor alive in the usual sense.

When her new body was completed, she had no will of her own. Like the somnabulist Cesar in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Helen could only watch from a distance as she obeyed the doctor, carrying out his criminal schemes, a mindless tool. She couldn't even feel angry about it. She couldn't feel anything.

x-x-x-x-x

Making her way back up to the control room, Mena saw that the monster had already returned, two half-eaten corpses leaking puddles onto the floor. The bodies were waterlogged. _Must be raining outside_. It gave her a look when she entered, a measuring stare as it held a fistful of soggy flesh halfway to its face. Then, seeming content, it continued its meal. She decided to give the monster a wide berth for a while.

However, when the creature had finished off the two carcasses and returned to its carving, her curiosity began nagging. She carefully wandered closer, wanting to be sure the smell of her blood wouldn't get it worked up again. She was too sore to really enjoy it anyway, and she felt a little guilty about wallowing in such debauchery while her aunt was lying on a surgery table, far away.

The bone had taken form, an elegant cylinder carefully carved with flowing images. Mena saw that there were similar finished pieces lying on the table, each with inset ends to fit into the next. Studying them, she calculated that when assembled, they would form a long narrow rod. She picked up the largest segment, ran her fingertips over the polished image carved into it.

At the very top, a set of gaping jaws surrounded what would be the fitting for something, maybe the tang of a blade. Below the jaws, a creature - **_the_** creature - mouth wide, ready to bite, wings spread in glory. And shamelessly, a woman upside-down, astride its hips, her head thrown back with obvious rapture. Mena turned the bone upside down to see better... it was Aunt Hel. No doubt about it. Skulls and screaming figures fled from her ecstatic form; she seemed to drink from their terror, her arms spread to encompass them.

This was the second such carving she had seen, of the monster and her aunt, blissful together. What ever this was, the creature had an undeniable regard for Helen that approached affection. As unlikely as that seemed for a monster who enjoyed tearing people apart, it was right here in front of her. She had to know.

"What is my aunt to you? Is... is she your... mate?"

The creature turned its wrinkled head to look at her curiously. It picked up a piece of black wax it had been rubbing into the carvings, scrawled words on the tabletop.

MATES ARE FOR THOSE THAT BREED

Mena considered this seriously for a moment, then a laugh burst from her. "So are dicks, but you've got one!"

It was unflustered, and wrote again.

NOT MINE

It stopped, but held onto the lump, pondering, an intrigued look passing over its usually menacing face. The monster scratched letters on the table, forming a single, deliberate word.

FRIEND

_Well, and that's true, I've seen it for myself,_ Mena thought._ Who else but my Aunt Hel would be a friend to ...this?_ "And me? she asked, tenative. What am** I **to you?"

Tossing a quick, sly glance at her, the creature scribbled -

DINNER

Goosebumps broke out on her skin. She swallowed hard, had to struggle to raise her eyes to the creature's.

Before she made it, the monster's grating laugh bellowed into the air. It was kidding again. Strangely, this grisly joke made her feel much better. It knew what she was so nervous about, and was teasing her.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen lay in her starched hospital bed, grinding her teeth. It wasn't just the insidious ache that was creeping through the veil of anesthesia, but the whole hopeless situation. She had been informed of her condition and the initial surgery when she awoke in the morning; a pair of nurses prepping her and a doctor droning about what they would be doing to her today, long-term therapy and options only a vague, shifting mirage right now. Too sickened by the heavy sedation to argue, she had no alternative but to let them do as they pleased.

And now, contaminated by futuristic hardware and a hundred different chemicals to numb her, feed her, and sedate her, she had this new onslaught to face - ...herself.

I shouldn't be allowed to live.

I can't even take care of myself anymore, not in a way that won't be anathema to everything I believe. That bitch says I'll barely be able to walk unless I give up my rights, my freedom, and accept the high-tech prosthesis. No more time with my monster... why would it want to hang around with an invalid? And I've let down my treasure, my Maenad.

Who'd have thought a body could be such a traitor.

She had already made enemies of several of the staff. Most of the nurses either avoided entering the room while she was awake, or completely ignored her. Helen had found only one possible ally so far, a stout nurse with steel-grey hair and a stony countenance, who had come to secure the temporary brace in preparation for surgery. A younger male nurse, assisting, had talked non-stop, going on about the gloomy weather, the news, his wife, the price of gas, the price of lattes, etc. Finally reaching her limit, Helen had interrupted him.

"Shut up." The stream of trivialities stopped short, and the nurse stared open-mouthed at his patient. "For god's sake just shut up." The man's lips formed into a stiff line, and he petulantly continued his duties, silent until they were finished. The older nurse had cracked a tiny, brief smile, shared a knowing glance with Helen. Helen gave a slight nod of understanding; this woman had to work with that blabbermouth all day, and didn't have the authority to say those much needed words.

Now the surgery was over, and her anesthesia mostly worn off, and ugly reality was barging in. Thunder rolled outside, and spatters of rain tapped against the window near her bed. _This is the worst day of my life. And it will only get worse from here..._

x-x-x-x-x

Mena strode up the wide hallway, carefully holding her paper-wrapped parcel away from her face. She sniffed, an odor of recycled air and sterilized plastic filled the building. An unpleasantly familiar person approached - Dr. Allen, striding towards her with acidic determination. As she neared, Mena saw a bright, purple-red bruise blossoming underneath the doctor's left eye. A furious glare told the girl that the injury had gone deeper.

"So... you talked to my aunt, I see?" Mena said, trying hard to not sound so amused. "I did warn you."

"Ms. Murdoch is being **_most_** uncooperative." The doctor sucked on her teeth, holding her temper in check. "I have declined to press assault charges for this, since the anesthesiologist informed me that hallucinations and aggression could be side effects of the drugs used. However." A malignant gleam sparked in her eye as she raised her chin. "I highly recommend you talk some sense into your aunt. She is an intelligent woman, I'm sure, but stubbornness will **not** improve her situation. Good day."

With that she swept on down the hallway, daring everyone she stared at to notice her brand-new shiner.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen heard the door hissing open, quickly closed her eyes, pretended to be asleep. It was the unique sound of boots walking towards her that made her open them again, curious. Relief washed over her, tainted with shame.

"Mena...!"

The girl was striding directly over to her, a kaleidescope of emotions on her face. She held something behind her back, pulled it out as she reached the end of Helen's bed. It was a huge bouquet, and as Mena unwrapped the newspaper from around it, a gangly fountain of blackberry canes sprang free, heavy with both fruit and flowers.

"Ta-daaa!" Mena held them aloft, dodging the cruel thorns. "I figured they wouldn't be feeding you proper." She set them in the water pitcher sitting on a small table, noticing the despair drowning her aunt's face. "Just saw your handiwork on Dr. Allen. You beat me to the punch."

"She provoked me." Helen's dark eyes swung up, and she managed a smug sneer."She's lucky that's all she got. If I could get up, I'd kick her in the face before walking out of here..." Bleak disgust returned, smearing her mouth into a scowl.

Mena felt crushed. "Oh Aunt Hel, please don't hate me!" she blurted out. "I had to bring you here... I couldn't just let you die!"

The woman's face crumbled, chastened. "Mena, my maenad... I could never hate you, don't you dare think that." Reaching out to squeeze Mena's hand, she sighed. "I'm just cranky is all, especially since Dr. Bitch came and gave me an ultimatum. She actually threatened me, says I'll be virtually handicapped if I don't do what she wants, but I think she's full of shit..."

She tossed back the covers, revealing her thigh. It was now encased in a sleek, stainless steel cage, which attached to rods emerging from her skin, from the top of her hip to below her kneecap. "What do you think?" she asked dryly. "I call it Inquisition Chic. It's torture, but it's **shiny**!"

Mena took a deep breath. "God, Aunt Hel... that looks like it hurts!"

"Not nearly as much as before. This is taking the place of the shattered bone... an exoskeleton, sort of. It's all external because it has to be adjusted constantly. It can bear all the weight that the bone did before ...and never will again, on its own." A grim cloud passed over her again. "It **can** be permanent, if I don't get the fancy stuff."

"Plan A?" Mena asked darkly.

"I won't have it." Mena recognised her aunt's tone, that of a mule digging its heels in. "Can you believe that woman actually tried to use vanity to convince me at first! I had to laugh in her face. She told me nobody likes to see this kind of hardware, that I would have social difficulties because of it." She laughed bitterly. "Then she tried to scare me, said the brace isn't pretty, merely functional, and not very at that."

Helen became more serious. "Here's the rub. My femur is toast. They had to remove a lot, the diseased parts were ruined even before they broke. What's left will knit together eventually - I'm on massive doses of bone-building drugs..." the disgust in her voice ate through like bile, "but it will never hold my weight again. And it will never bear the pull of muscles, either." She paused, silent for a moment. "They attached the ends of my muscles to these rods," Helen gestured at the metal coming from her flesh, "but they can't do much. I might be able to walk, and that's about all." Mena could see the black wheels turning in her aunt's head at the prospect of shuffling around uselessly, for the rest of her days.

Helen turned her head away, and an angry sob escaped her throat. "Don't see me..." she hissed.

A scratching sound came from the storm-dark window. They both turned to look, saw the grim face of the monster peering in, dripping with rain. Two faces brightened, and Mena ran over to open the window, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else in the small ward could see. The creature nimbly jumped onto the floor with a thud, water running from its coat and floppy hat.

Helen felt like she could fly. The straps securing her torso to the bed "for her protection" couldn't restrain her spirits as she beheld her monster, returned to her in the unlikeliest of places. It ambled over to her bedside, one arm behind its back, then brought it forward and revealed the bouquet it had made her.

A bouquet of human legs, the balls of femurs gleaming from torn flesh. Toe tags dangled from two of the legs. Another was dripping bright, fresh blood onto the puddled floor.

A squeak got Mena's attention. She looked down; her aunt had her hands over her face, and was shaking. The muffled sounds suddenly burst into a full-throated laugh, a laugh like a song. The monster was laughing along, a gruff "huhhhh huhhh huhhhhh," that rumbled through the ward, a harmony to Helen's melody.

"Ohhh, you are so sweet," panted Helen. "And I am such a fool." She shook her head, beaming. "How could I have doubted? I'll be just fine."

The dark, dripping creature patted her head, began sniffing curiously at her leg. Mena sat down gingerly in a chair beside her aunt, wincing. The uncomfortable fidgeting didn't go unnoticed; Helen threw a questioning glance at her niece, asked, "You ok?"

A small, pained grin passed over Mena's face. "New piercing."

__

End of Chapter 13

* * *

A/N: Helen's leg brace is loosely based on a dream I had in college (the dream Helen has while under), and Mad Max's leg brace in The Road Warrior. The carving the monster is working on is taken from the carving on the knife Jack Taggart Jr. found in the cornfield. A picture of it is on my site, in the Dungeon.

I realize there are unlikely medical procedures going on. This is **my** alternate universe, and besides it's taking place in 2024 or something like that. I also don't want anyone thinking I hate doctors and nurses. I love them, they can be quite delicious. Seriously though, they deserve appreciation for their hard work.


	14. Chapter 14

**WARNING**: Explicit violence, immoral behavior of all sorts.

_Chapter 14_

Helen lay back against her stiff pillows, listening long after Mena's footfalls had receded. Though she felt a thousand times better now, the sterile air and oppressive surroundings still aggravated her. The view out the window, through which the monster had departed a few minutes earlier, was nothing but sodden blue-grey clouds, a view infinitely more agreeable to her eyes. Rolling thunder growled a lullabye, soothing her eyes to heaviness.

A brisk but silent approach startled her awake from the unexpected sleep. The stocky nurse who had shared a wry secret smile the day before. Her skin was the color of polished walnut, a contrast to her dark grey hair. She began going through the usual checks and adjustments; Helen noted with gratitude the care not to clank her stethoscope against machinery and metal carts. The name on the tage read 'Susan Grosberg, RN'.

As Helen read the nametag, the nurse looked up, saw that her patient was awake after all. The same restrained smile flashed across her face like a wink.

"Your niece came?"

She didn't mince words, no chipper 'had a nice visit?'. Helen nodded once, a sly softening around her eyes recalling another visitor. The nurse continued her brisk duties, moved around to the window side of the bed. The huge puddle of red-tinted water drew her attention immediately. She stopped short, looked at it for a moment, then shook her head, stepped around it. "I won't even ask."

_Wise choice,_ thought Helen.

Without turning her head from the statistics she recorded on her clipboard, the nurse began speaking in a low, earnest voice, keeping an eye to the ward door.

"Watch your back. Doctor Allen... she's used to getting her way." A group of people passed by the open door, and she was silent for a minute, then went on in a quieter tone. "People who stand up to her usually end up on their asses." A dark gleam in her eyes as she glanced at Helen told of bitter personal experience.

Helen mulled this over for moment. "So you think I should just give in, do what she wants?" Dry scorn in her voice; there was no way in hell she'd consider doing so.

Susan humphed, a smirk twisting half her face up. "**_I_** think you should go for the nose next time. It's nice to see someone who isn't afraid of her, but..." Her expression grew serious again. "Just be careful. She can get nasty."

She concluded her checks, faced Helen for a moment, and they regarded each other with mute frankness. Helen nodded her thanks, and the nurse nodded back, turned and marched on to her next duty.

_An ally indeed, _thought Helen._ So... this doctor wants to play rough, does she?_

x-x-x-x-x

Doctor Allen watched from far down the hall as Grosberg emerged from the doorway, turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she searched for a reason to be suspicious. _She's not on her regular pattern of rounds. _'Irregularities' would look very bad on a monthly review. Nearing the door, she nodded once.

**_That_** room. She added a black mark beside the nurse's name in her mental ledger.

Associating with that damn Murdoch woman was enough in her book, but she'd have to come up with some more official reasons to satisfy the board. They were lax, and Doctor Allen was occasionally forced to prod them; in the end they saw the sense of doing things her way.

If only all her patients would fall into line as sensibly. Most did; they gazed up at her from their stark beds as though she were an angel, and grasped onto her words with the desperation that comes to the unexpectedly damaged. Her guidance would save them; without her they would shrivel and rot away. And so, her instruction, her medical advice, was taken for what it was - a treasure bestowed on those barely worthy.

A few resisted, and she had to quickly take the reins, show them who was the authority here. After all, they came here for help, and to snub it was an insult. If anyone doubted the treatment she prescribed, she made it painfully clear that they had no cause, no **_right_**, to question her expertise. They usually backed down, stung, chastised.

This obstinate woman, though... she showed no signs of weakening. A tiny part of Doctor Allen's mind gave a reluctant salute to that unbendable will, but she crushed the thought under her heel. _No one here is allowed to make a fool of me. Especially not a backwards hillbilly; she probably wallows in some degenerate and unhealthy lifestyle. Certainly flaunts it - those crude stitched-up clothes, tattoos, God knows what kind of sexual perversions... and at her age! Disgusting._

And her niece, too. Just the same. Snide, disrespectful, dressed like a train wreck, and already marred with a large tattoo that just peeked from under her shirt. A shirt that had been ripped badly and hand-sewn back together. What was wrong with those people? Why couldn't they just throw away their ruined clothing and act like humans, instead of ...goddamn savages?

She calmed her thoughts, letting the anger that had begun darkening her face cool into a calculating stillness. _Well, Ms. Murdoch, you had your chance. Now you'll see what happens to ungrateful pissants who can't recognize a good thing when it's offered. _Doctor Allen already had the paperwork together. 'Mentally incompetent'... it would be easy enough to convince the board. After all, the woman had refused treatment in the past, was refusing her best option now, and had even become physically violent with her doctor. _I'll present my recommendations at the next meeting._

Having made her decision, she could turn to other matters. Such as the disturbing reports that two people had disappeared from the parking lot last night. The first report was not taken too seriously at first, since there was no reason to think it was suspicious. A night-shift nurse who left the building but never made it home - it happened often enough. They rode home with a friend, or went off on a bender. But then another missing person, a respectable gentleman who had been parking after he drove his wife and her sister to the ER - he just vanished. His car was still there, the keys in the ignition. No, that was not so easily explained away.

Nor was it acceptable to allow any kind of scandal to besmirch her career. A crime at the hospital was as much a personal threat as unruly patients, and as such, must be dealt with swiftly. Flies must be swatted, stains must be bleached out.

x-x-x-x-x

A tense restlessness ate at Mena all that afternoon. Her cramps were back with a vengence, but that was nothing to the buzzing anxiety, the need to move. She paced along the dark catacombs for a while, then ran through them, finally let out a short scream of frustration.

It was too quiet, too still.

She returned to the control room, passed through the empty space and on up to the outside. Mena felt like a swimmer returning to the surface as a fresh evening breeze lifted her hair. Underground spaces didn't make her feel claustrophobic, exactly, but they made her anxious; too much suggestion of confinement.

The creature's tank of a truck was still gone. She had no idea when it would be back, or if it would bring back something for her to play with. The thought of having a hunt without her aunt... well, it lost all its luster. Boredom and crankiness swirled like a curdling poison in her stomach. Waiting, waiting for what?

Fuck it. I'm going out.

The decision made itself before she could consider the rationality of it. 'Out' sounded good; she was sure she could walk and hitch her way to a bar or something. And if not... well, at least she wouldn't be pacing through too-quiet tunnels listening to her own heartbeat. Out... music, beer, movement, excitement, ...people.

Mena went back inside and changed, shook the dust out of a suede jacket from the office stash. It had long fringes trailing from the sleeves, and a crusty brown stain inside the collar. A few small armaments tucked neatly away, and she was almost ready.

Just one more thing she'd need if she hoped to quench her thirst in a bar.

x-x-x-x-x

"...sonofabitch..." She swore as a stone turned under her heel. At least it was dark and cooling off now, not a bad night for a stroll. Her last ride had dropped her off about a mile back, when she'd spotted a fading sign that promised 'Rocky's Roadhouse - Always Open', pointing down a dusty side road. The road was not well maintained, but showed some signs of travel, tire-tracks and oil stains.

As she emerged from under a canopy of low-hanging branches, the road dipped down an incline, following the landscape of a dry riverbottom. There at the base of the decline, the road ended at a low stone building. It had once resembled a frontier fort, but now looked more like a last refuge for the lost. The windows had long ago been boarded over, and even the paint was peeled away. Dented trucks and a few motorcycles fringed the roadhouse, like piglets trying to suckle from a rotten sow's corpse. Mena sighed. _Finally._

She pulled the door open, stood for a moment to take in the interior, so different from the outside. A jukebox turned up slightly too loud; a chorus of garbled conversation that fell quiet as they turned and saw her; yellow bulbs lighting a dark-stained wood room. Cigarette smoke, stale beer breath, sweat-soaked leathers.

"Need index ID, missy." A deep voice at her shoulder demanded. A huge man with a grey-streaked beard had risen from a table near the front, and stood with one hand resting on a small black box. He looked like he could be 'Rocky', certainly had the air of more than just a bouncer.

Visual ID's were not used much anymore; most bars required a fingerprint scan to prove the age of the customer. Mena had rummaged through the monster's pile until she'd spotted a body of the appropriate age and gender. A smile crept over her face as she now extended her 'fake ID' from the long jacket sleeve, put it on the scanner. The fingerprint was read, accepted. The man just grunted and nodded, then sat back down with his companions.

Mena strolled up to the bar, planted herself on a barstool. Low voices floated back and forth across the room, threading through the music. "...Pussy...", "...she looks...suck...". She didn't care. All part of the ambience.

A middle-aged woman approached behind the bar. Her hair was either yellow-stained white, or incredibly bleached. Either way, there was a lot of it, piled in stiff curls on top of her head. She gave Mena a top-to-bottom glance, half-sour, half-sympathetic, blew a jet of cigarette smoke out the side of her mouth, and tonelessly asked, "What can I getchya, honey?"

"Shot of Hornitos, double bourbon, and a beer."

The woman stared at Mena for a few seconds, as though trying to decide if she'd heard correctly. Mena gazed back steadily - _yes, I'm serious, lady _- and the bartender finally relented, began setting up the order. Pushing her money across the bartop, Mena carefully, almost reverently, raised the tequila in a silent toast.

This one's for you, Aunt Hel.

She downed it, her eyes closed. A low whistle, a couple of sniggers, snatches of muttering oozed from around the room. "...hot damn..." Mena stifled a grimace that had nothing to do with the strong liquor, everything to do with disrespect for her personal ritual. _Relax,_ she told herself. _I'm here to kick back._

The tequila wasn't watered down too much, and worked well enough to numb her taste buds against the cheap bourbon and beer. She took up her drinks and wandered over to the now-silent jukebox, flipped through the selections with a growing expression of exasperation. It was mostly shit - overproduced country, overhashed classic rock. Diligent exploration turned up a few pearls among the trash, though, and she fed money and numbers into the machine with a tiny smile of satisfaction. Patsy Cline began crooning from the speaker moments later. _"I go out walkin', after midnight, out in the moonlight..."_

Returning to her barstool, she couldn't help but notice all the eyes that clung to her movements. A glare of reflected light caught on a pair of glasses, and she looked up to see a figure retreating into a room behind the bar, but still watching her. A dull-faced boy, maybe nineteen at most, in a filthy apron and coke-bottle glasses. The white-haired woman turned and saw him, scolded him back to his sinks. "You get back in there. And I don't want to see your face out here until all that shit is clean, do you hear me?"

Just as she sat down, a man rose from a table full of men, their greasy mutters trailing behind him. Out of the corner of her eyes, Mena watched with dismay as he swaggered directly over to her side. He leaned his bulky torso on the bar, weight on one elbow, body turned mostly towards her. There was no way she could mistake or ignore his intent. Or his odor. Mena sighed loudly, but guys like this never took subtle hints.

"Damn, girlie... I ain't never seen such a pretty little thing put it back like that before."

Mena burned at the condescending tone, but actively ignored the man. In the mirror behind the bar, she could see him staring at her with a smirk on his tobacco-stained mouth.

"Ronette, pour another one a them **_ta' kill ya'_**s." He said to the bartender, though he pointed his words at Mena, hoping to impress her with his 'cutesy' name for the booze. Mena groaned, started looking surreptitiously for a better place to sit. The woman poured him a shot of the Hornitos, took his money.

The man pushed the shot glass towards Mena with his fingertips, until it was right in front of her.

"My buddies don't think you can do it again. I say you can."

She couldn't ignore him any longer. Turning her head to glare at him cooly, she took another sip of her beer, swallowed it slowly. "I don't accept drinks from strangers," she said clearly, then turned back to face the bar.

The man huffed out his nose. "Well hell, babe, I ain't a stranger. Everybody here knows me." A gobble of laughter rose from the man's table. "Name's Red. But you can call me Red." He grinned stupidly at his clever introduction. "Now we ain't strangers anymore. An' what with you bein' all lonesome over here, you look like you could use some company."

Mena sighed deeply again, chewed the inside of her lip. _All it takes is one fuck-ass to start shit... _She turned to look at the man again, pushing the shot glass back as she did so.

"I'll buy my own drinks. And I'm not looking for company."

"Awww, I've heard _that_ before..." He drawled as though she'd said something cute and flirtatious.

"I'll bet you have." Mena bit out. She was getting too annoyed to be nice any longer.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It_ means _you are so repellent, I'd rather spend quality time with week-old roadkill than listen to another fucking word out of your mouth." She tilted her head to one side, stared at him. "Get it? **Leave me alone**."

The man began to sneer as his eyes turned round and mean. He reached out, grabbed her jaw around the chin, squeezing her cheeks. "Now look here, you little cu-".

Mena reacted reflexively. Her boot swung around the barstool and connected solidly with the man's crotch. She pushed hard with her leg, throwing him off balance, sending him stumbling back before he fell on his ass and skidded a foot. His face was contorted and dark red, and his friends helped him up, back to their table, glaring at her over their shoulders.

She rubbed her jaw and turned back to the bar, noticed the bartender glancing darkly between her and someone approaching. The man at the door, who had risen and walked over, now tapped Mena hard on the shoulder.

"Out. Now."

Mena turned to gape at him in unfeigned disbelief, speechless. He shook his head. "We don't allow any roughousing here. Take your business somewhere else, missy."

"He grabbed me! You saw..." she turned an indignant glare at the woman behind the bar. "What the hell was I supposed to do, let him feel me up and then fuck me over the barstool?" The woman just scowled, half-decided that this little tramp had deserved the unwanted attention just for showing off.

"**Out.**" the man repeated, and he pointed at the door.

Mena was infuriated. _After all that money I put in the jukebox, and minding my own fucking business... _She stalked to the door and pushed through it, hearing the voice raised from the table as she left. "What the hell did you let trash like that in here for, Rock? D'dyou see what she-".

The door slammed shut on its springs behind her, and the quiet darkness once again closed all around. _Great. Just great. It took me for-fuckin'-ever to get here, and now I have to walk all the way back to the highway. _

_Or maybe not._ Anger was metamorphosing within her, an alchemical reaction into a virulent, seething giddiness.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight, she made out the solid shadows of the vehicles parked nearby. A crazy alternative unfolded in her mind, settled in place. Mena prowled the line of beaters and tired old cars, searching for just the right one. _It's like going used-car shopping_, she thought with a snort.

One of the shadows was boxier, more squared off. It was an old jeep, the ones used for mail delivery, like a personal-sized panel truck. This one had been repainted a few times, now appeared to be mostly primer grey. Mena circled it, growing to admire the jeep's nondescript functionality. _Cargo area, might come in handy... _Her eyes blazed with moonlight as she patted the truck, choosing it as her new ride.

She returned to the front door in decisive strides, pulled it open, and leaned in. Rocky looked up and scowled, began to open his mouth, but she was already shouting to the patrons, a worried look on her face.

"Whose old mail truck is that?"

A defensive voice rose from the bar; one of the loners. "Mine. Why?"

"It's just... it looks like someone's messin' with it. Back is open, and I heard a noise..."

The man swore, hurried towards the door, ignoring Mena as he pushed past her. She followed at a distance as he stomped to his jeep, muttering threats and curses. He circled to the back, staring at the closed doors, then made two suspicious circuits of the vehicle, searching for signs of vandalism. Returning to the back, he turned the handles, swung the doors apart, stared into the darkness for a few moments.

Mena approached quietly, but not too quietly. He turned to her, looking her up and down as he spat out, "I thought you said there was someone messin' with it."

She laughed softly. "ohhh, I'm sorry! ...What I meant to say was, 'there's **_gonna be _**someone messing with it'. Her hand flicked out, as though she were shooing a mosquito away from the man's neck.

He stared at her for several moments, uncomprehending. Dark patches appeared on her jacket, on her goofy-grinning face. His neck stung - that bug got him after all... Then he felt a terrible weakness pulling the legs out from under him, and slumped to the dirt soundlessly.

"See?" said Mena as she wiped her razor knife clean, heaved the man's limp body into the cargo area.

It was obvious that everyone inside had expected to see the man, not her, when she opened the door and sauntered to the barstool she had vacated. They certainly hadn't expected to see her, splattered in bright red, smiling like a kid in a candy store. The bar went deathly quiet, save for the jukebox still belting out Mena's selections. A few of the people on barstools edged away.

She patted the bar, motioned for Ronette to come over. The woman's face had gone the same yellow-white as her hair, even under the cracking layers of make-up.

"Set me up again, would'ya **_darlin'_**?" The woman had a hard time tearing her eyes from the bloodstained jacket, and her hands shook as she poured the shots. Mena tossed them back even before the beer was placed in front of her. She smiled wolfishly. "Thirsty work."

The door opened and a couple of men scrambled out, abandoning their attempt at a stealthy escape. Mena just shrugged and began to turn away, when the sound from outside reached them; a yell, then a man screaming, cut off short. Then silence. A few drawn-out seconds later, a pair of heavy thuds against the lower part of the door. She was the only one who comprehended the meaning of those sounds, and the blood that began seeping from underneath the door.

The monster had followed her here._ Goody..._

A cacophony of rising panic rose from around the room. "What th' fuck **was** that, what in th' hell is out there, Rock?" "Idon'wannadieIdon'wannadieIdo'wannadie..." "Holy fuckin' shit man...wuzzat Marty? Was it?"

The people in the roadhouse were effectively trapped, partly by the two bodies blocking the front door, but also by the unknown horror that awaited outside. Worse, they were trapped with Mena. And Mena was in a mood.

She knocked back her beer, feeling the sweet glow of a buzz coursing through her, and tapped the shot glass for Ronette to refill it. Mena pointed at the cigarette now dangling from the woman's shaky lip, stuck fast but forgotten.

"Can I have one of those?" Ronette flinched slightly when Mena stuck her blood-smeared finger out, and looked bewildered for a second, before nodding too energetically. She pulled a pack out of her apron, held it at arm's length while Mena fished for her own lighter.

"Oh yeaaaah." Mena blew out a stream of smoke, sighing with the pleasure of the first drag. She looked around at her audience of unhappy faces. "Now this is what I call kickin' back!"

Red rose from his seat suddenly, the chair tottered back and thumped to the floor. The look on his face was boiling rage and disbelief - _how **dare** this uppity little bitch come in here and start shit!_ He pounded over, shoving some people roughly out of his way; others jumped back, sensing trouble.

He stopped short when he was two feet away from Mena, still ignoring him. Her total lack of concern unnerved him. Red glowered at her, breathing deeply. "Hey!" he barked.

She turned to face him, raised an eyebrow, blinked slowly. "You don't learn, do you?" she said smoothly, and swigged her bourbon. The nonchalant gesture belied her wariness. Just as she expected, he geared up to lunge at her, but the man was not capable of moving with any great speed. As he began heaving forward, she raised the lighter in her hand, flicked it while spraying the whole mouthful of whiskey at Red's livid face.

The fireball engulfed his head, ignited his greasy hair and beard instantly. He shook his head back and forth, screeching, then began stumbling around the room, maddened with pain and terror. A chorus of deep-chested, horrified shouts and screams rose from lungs unaccustomed to being on the butt end of trouble.

Mena stood, smashed her shot glass on the floor, and caterwauled a rebel yell into the air. "YEEEE-HAWWWW!" She reached into her waistband and whipped the pistol out, fired twice into the ceiling. An angry snarl answered from somewhere nearby on the roof.

"...oops. Sorry!" she called up.

The roadhouse was in total chaos. People stampeded around the room, trying to get away from the flaming man, or alternately trying to put him out. Some huddled against the far wall, thinking it the safest option. Rocky yelled, "Call 9-1-1! Call 9-1-1!" at Ronette, the top of her curly hair just visible.

"Dammit Rock," Ronette wailed. "I told you not to install that cell jammer! I **_told_** you!" She was hunched behind the bar, black streaks cutting trails through her make-up, a useless land-line telephone cradled to her chest. "It's DEAD!"

Moments later, afearsome grey arm punched through the boards over a window at the back. The clawed hand waved around briefly, then latched onto a nearby head, pulled the panicked man back through splintered planks. The remaining group scrambled away, ending up in the center of the room, surrounded by overturned chairs, broken glasses, and the stench of burnt hair.

Red was extinguished now, and Mena strolled over to inspect him where he stood, leaning heavily on a table. His face was scorched pink and all the hair was singed from his eyebrows and beard. He breathed with difficulty, taking great ragged breaths before coughing them out. Mena took his shoulders, straightened him up.

"Well I'll be, Red. You give a whole new meaning to the term 'well lit'." She reached both hands into her jacket. "Just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you..." Her punches swung at his head, left, right, in quick succession. Only afterward did the great slashes across his face begin gushing blood, and the weird, dark knives held low against her wrists draw notice. He staggered back; his mouth opened wide as he drew a wheezing breath to cry out.

Mena pulled back and swung again, appeared to punch him right in the mouth. When she stepped back though, the hilt of a long blade protruded from between his teeth.

Crimson bubbles formed around the hilt, popped. Then Red crumpled in a soggy, singed heap.

"Didn't your mama ever tell you not to mess with a woman on the rag?"

She turned to the wide-eyed mob crouched in the center of the room. At her look, they all began scrambling to get furthest from her, while still being furthest from a window. It was a hilarious sight; a dozen men and a couple of rough-looking women seething against each other, pushing others into the forefront to shield themselves. Mena crowed, her eyes glittering with feral ecstasy.

She faked a lunge at the crowd, yelled, "BOO!" They instantly tumbled apart, scattered by the winds of their own terror. A maddened herd, desperate for some kind of escape from this hell. A few ran to crouch behind the bar with Ronette, one disappeared into adoorless room at the back, the sign overhead reading 'OFFICE - NO EXIT'.

Mena saw one crawling on hands and knees to a partition that hid the restrooms. Just after he disappeared behind it, he began scrambling back, grabbed the partition with both hands as something tugged on his legs. With a scream of despair he lost his grip, was yanked out of sight.

Madness swirling around, the smell of blood and the wails of the trapped and hopeless, the stir of alcohol in her blood; all fed Mena's bloodthirsty joy. She plowed her way through the dispersing mob, striking out furiously. Hysterical laughter bubbled from her throat, and she leapt onto a man's back, knocked him crashing to the floor. He squealed and tried to dislodge her, too late; she plunged a sticky blade into the base of his skull. She sat up and howled, saw a figure rising from behind the bar as she lowered her head.

It was Rocky, pointing a huge .44 at her with both shaky hands. Even before she had time to become concerned, Rocky's eyes shifted, focused on something behind her. The gun was aimed higher, but the look on the man's face was one of total incomprehension. He shook his head from side to side, mumbling, "no...no!..." A dark shape flapped over her and the gun fired, deafening in the enclosed space. The blast hit squarely, a dusty explosion erupted from the monster's head, but he continued unchecked. Muted sounds of glass crashing as the mirror broke, screams from many throats, spurts of red up against the wall. Mena jumped up, continued her rampage, wild eyes searching out prey.

One after another they fell under knife and teeth, ripped open or pierced, blood and ruined flesh scattered in all directions. Once or twice Mena caught a glimpse of the creature as they slaughtered their way through the bar; it looked different, but she was too caught up in her blood-frenzy to wonder or care.

At last she sat back in a lake of gooey, congealing blood, laughing softly as she recovered her breath and her senses. There were bodies everywhere, scattered like torn rag dolls. For a moment she was appalled, confused - _What happened here? _- then it passed. A wet crunching came from behind the bar, where the monster had found something too good to save for later. "We messed this place up pretty good, didn't we?" she said, proud and surprised.

The dark form stood from its crouch, looked around. She saw now what was wrong; its nose had been mostly blown off. A shallow, ragged crater remained beside one lonely nostril. The monster seem unperturbed by this loss, as usual, simply blinked at all the destruction, growled out, "Too much."

Mena gaped, astounded. "...what?" _Not like him to reproach **anyone** for causing mayhem._

"Too much... to ...eat."

Mena closed her eyes, chuckling. "Ohhh - heh hehh." The monster could eat a lot, but probably couldn't get this many in its truck all at once. Maybe couldn't eat all these before they started getting overripe. "I think I know what to do with the surplus." She looked around, calculating. "Let's load 'em up."

She took one of the limp, heavy bodies under the armpits, began dragging it to the door. The creature was already there, smashing the door off its hinges over the two ragged corpses outside. They loaded every last one into the BEATNGU and the mail truck, filling them both to bursting. Mena thought she'd bust an axle with all the weight, but they finally got the doors latched, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "God damn, I think some of them actually smell _better_ now."

She went back inside, strode to the bar, and grabbed a bottle out of the well. As she tilted it up to take a swig, Mena heard a muffled whimper from somewhere nearby. Looking around, she confirmed that there were no bodies, living or otherwise, left in the room... but there it was again. Someone crying. Someone crying behind a door.

It dawned on her, and she stepped quietly to the closed door where the kid had been washing glasses. He must have shut himself in when the shit hit the fan. Mena had an odd sensation of sympathy, maybe because he was practically a scullery boy here, or because he was near her own age. Whatever the case, she couldn't leave him.

Mena knocked quietly on the door. "Hey kid. Come on out now." A silence, broken only by a sniffle. She tried the door, but there was something blocking it shut from the inside. "Open the door. We have to get out of here." Silence again for a few seconds, then the sound of a heavy object being dragged out of the way. The door opened an inch, and a tear-streaked face appeared, glasses askew. He squinted over Mena's shoulder.

"Whu-where is everybody?" The kid sniffed again.

"They all left. We have to go now, too." Mena held out her hand. Blood-smeared as it was, the boy didn't appear to mind. He opened the door and took her hand, let himself be led out, docile as a lamb. _He must be a little bit slow, _she mused. _Doesn't seem like he's used to making his own decisions. _She installed him in the passenger seat of her new jeep, buckled him in securely. When she turned to go back inside, he cried out in a shaky voice, "Where you goin'?" almost panicking at the thought of her leaving his side.

"I'll be right back. Just sit tight."

She returned to the bar, began smashing bottles of liquor in the center of the room. When every last bottle was smashed, the volatile contents covering every surface, she lit a napkin, tossed it onto the nearest table. It went up with a great _WHUMPH_, flaming tentacles spread rapidly all over the room. Mena hurried out; the roadhouse was well lit.

The monster's truck was already running, and she swung into the driver's seat of the mail truck eagerly. Grinned briefly at the boy, who was now gnawing on his fingernails. She looked around. Slapped her forehead. _Keys_. Just as she started to climb back out, the creature stepped over, stone-faced, dangling a set of keys from its raised hand. Mena grabbed them, smirking. "Gimme a break, I'm new at this."

"Who was that?" the boy whispered. His thick glasses were so smeared he probably couldn't see anything but shapes. Mena leered despite herself. _This kid's gonna get a big surprise._

"That was a friend. You'll meet him later."

"Oh." He rubbed his nose. "O-kay."

Two heavy-laden trucks rumbled away, leaving a crackling, smoking, low-slung building behind in the dust.

_End of Chapter 14_

* * *

A/N: Mena's roadhouse massacre was inspired by a scene from Near Dark, my favorite vampire movie. 


	15. Chapter 15

**WARNING: **Smut and gore, sometimes in the same sentence. Minors and whiners, don't let the door hit you on the way out.

_Chapter 15_

Mena peeled off another strip of duct tape. She stood before the stainless-steel worktable, staring at the dwindling pile of corpses beside it.

There were **_so many._**

The monster worked across from her, expert at butchering. It simply flayed each one, severed tendons, pulled whole muscles loose. Another chunk of bloody meat was plopped down in front of her, and she pulled a fresh black plastic garbage bag from the box, cut it in sections to wrap the meat in. Mena took the slabs, wrapped them tightly, taping them up to make neat little packages. She shook her head, wondered how they would ever get it all into Aunt Helen's freezer.

A squishy, smacking sound broke her thoughts. The creature had found another among the bodies that was tasty; every so often an organ or a limb, or sometimes the entire carcass was stuffed enthusiastically into its jaws, one bite at a time. So far, though, it had not chosen a suitable replacement for its destroyed nose. Mena had an uneasy suspicion it had already found one.

x-x-x-x-x

When she had brought the teenaged boy in, the monster showed a delighted interest. Stalking up to the boy, who recoiled seeing the menacing form more clearly, it had begun to sniff agressively at the kid's face, grabbing at the struggling, wailing boy's arms to hold him still.

Mena acted quickly, shouting, "Hey! Hands off, he's mine. I found him, and I'll keep him." She pulled the now-hysterical boy away, pushed him into the office and shut the door behind her. The monster appeared at the window for a few moments, staring in hungrily at the sobbing boy. Mena slapped her palm against the glass, glared at the monster. It blinked, looking slowly back and forth between her and the boy, but soon left to bring more carcasses inside.

Mena sat the kid down on a pile of sleeping bags. "What's your name?" she asked.

He took hitching breaths, moaned, "He's a **bad** man! ...a bad man."

She sighed, rolled her eyes impatiently. This guy might even be older than her, but it was like talking to a potato.

"What's your name, kid?"

"D-Duh-Danny." He was calming down, and wiped the back of his hand across his nose.

"Danny, stay here for a while, ok?" He nodded, effortlessly trusting her to look after him. "Here's some snacks if you get hungry. I'll come back later..." She started to leave, had the door half-open.

"What's your name?" he called after her.

She smiled darkly. "My name's Mena."

x-x-x-x-x

Now, a couple of hours later, they were finally finishing up with the monumental butchering job. Mena sighed heavily, wiped her forehead with a sticky hand. "Awww, great..." she grumbled, realizing how smeared she was. She wiped herself clean as best she could with a damp rag, decided it was time for a break. All that meat would have to go to Aunt Hel's house; it was already half-loaded into her new truck, but she could stop for a rest first.

Danny was asleep on the lumpy pile, stretched out with his mouth open. As soon as she shut the door behind her, he awoke. "Hi, Mena!" he said sleepily. "I saved you some..." Danny held out a smeary half of a chocolate bar.

Mena chuckled. "I already ate, thanks," sucking the remains of some raw flesh from between her teeth. She leaned back against the door, and studied the boy for a moment, curious. He hadn't even asked to go home yet. Odd, unless home life was less than desirable. "Tell me, Danny. Where do you live?"

He looked stricken. "Can't I stay here with you? I _like_ you."

_I was right. Whoever looks after him probably won't even miss him._ "I'll think about it," she said.

"You're pretty and nice." Danny was gazing at her breasts, entranced. "I like your tits."

Mena choked, trying not to laugh aloud. She certainly hadn't been expecting this. "You like tits, huh?"

He continued staring unabashedly, nodded. "They're what girls have, that I'm not allowed to touch. But I can look, if Ronette's not watching." He swallowed, glanced up at her briefly.

She noticed that he was sweating a bit. The guy was kind of cute, even if he was dumb as dirt. She peeled her shirt off, displayed her curvy chest proudly for the boy. He fidgeted, started breathing hard. _Poor horny kid, he probably never gets any. _"You wanna touch mine?" Mena fingered the lacy edge of her bra.

Danny nearly fell over his own feet jumping up. He reached a shaking hand out, fumbled it over her round flesh, gasping at the feel of soft, forbidden skin. Squeezing and pawing at her breasts, he treated them like a new toy which might be taken away at any moment. The inept groping wasn't doing much for Mena, though. Bored, she looked down to see an impressive bulge growing in the kid's jeans.

A wicked gleam caught in Mena's hooded eyes. _I knew there was a good reason I brought this guy along_, she thought as she licked her lower lip. Kneeling, she pushed his greasy apron aside with the back of her hand, and hooked her finger in his waistband. He let out a surprised bark when she undid his jeans, pulled them down along with the boxers underneath. A turgid rod of flesh bounced free, waving at her face.

Mena brushed her fingers up along the valley where legs joined body, through the sparse nest of silky brown pubes. She leaned her face in, let the firm flesh caress her cheek as she inhaled the scent of excited young man - musky-sweet, earthy, slightly acrid. A dew of sweat was forming on the soft skin above his groin, and she kissed the moist flesh, pressing her lips to it. His pecker jumped, nudging her under the chin, leaving its own tiny string of precum.

The rosy head glistened, jumped when she brushed her lips across it. Danny moaned, stroked her hair, his breath hitching when she fondled his balls, the curve of his ass. She took the silky-hard tip of his cock between her lips, scraped her teeth gently over its stretched, sensitive skin.

The boy gasped, jerked forward. Swollen flesh filled her mouth, and she stroked her tongue across it in the tight space, savored the meaty taste and feel before pulling back, letting the cock pop out of her mouth. Danny curled his fingers into her hair, tangling them a little, a moaned plea to continue. Mena looked up at him; his eyes were dark with astonishment and his mouth slack.

"Do you like this, Danny?" she crooned.

He nodded rapidly, breathing heavily. She extended her tongue again, slid it up the underside of his shaft. As she took the head back in her mouth, she could feel it swelling, hardening, and she swirled her tongue around it, sucking gently. It jerked and twitched in her mouth; Mena grasped the base firmly, squeezed the rigid flesh. A pulse stiffened it, then again. She loved the pleasure she could feel on her tongue, that she could inflict.

Trembling groans wracked the boy's body, but they were becoming softer, interlaced with surprised gasps. He started bucking his hips, nearly shaking Mena loose. Pushing against him, she backed the boy up to the wall with the observation window. With his back mashed against the glass, she guided his movements to her whim.

Suddenly a face pressed up to the other side; the monster, eyes feral with hunger. It slapped a spread clawed hand on the glass, slowly slid it down while curling its fingertips; a distant _screeeee_ could be heard behind the thick glass. Mena's heart skipped a beat in momentary terror; she should've known better than to stand in the way of the monster's hideous appetite. She quickened her tonguing, realizing she'd better get this over with soon so she could deal with the hungry wolf at the door. Danny was already there, though.

His cock swelled one last time, and Mena knew his gun was going off. As he breathed a long groan, a tearing, crashing explosion ripped through the door. The monster burst through, homed in on the boy's face instantly. Danny spurt, jerking, onto Mena's tongue; his groan now a muffled scream. His face was half-buried in the creature's jaws, needle-like teeth pulling skin and flesh apart. Convulsive spasms shot the last of his load as his head came apart.

The body fell limp to the floor at Mena's knees, and she kneeled there listening to the crunching, chewing noises. "Sonofa_bitch_..." she muttered shakily, her breathing returning slowly to normal. Finally, she looked up to the the monster smiling at her, smug and pleased, licking its new nose with a long, searching tongue. She had to laugh, though she shook her head in displeasure.

"He was mine! Dammit!" But Mena knew as soon as she said it that the boy had been doomed, from the moment she brought him along. Fun... but food, sooner or later.

The monster only smiled its horrible grin, face as open and unashamed as always, and licked its fingers.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen breathed in the moist draft from her open window. The ward was dark, only a spill of light from the hallway illuminated the room. Various lights blinked on machinery beside beds here and there, but otherwise there was no movement. Out of habit and wide-awake boredom, she studied her surroundings for anything different, out of place or interesting.

The same three occupied beds, shadowed grey bulks from which wheezy snores could be heard. An intermittent beep from a monitor, the soundless shifting of a curtain drawn around someone's bed. Helen sighed, it seemed everything was the same, the same dull prison of cleanliness and inertia. She could practically feel herself dying of old age as she lay there, doing nothing, going nowhere.

A shadow on the wall across the room caught her eye. Nearly impossible to make out, a darkness against darkness, but certainly it hadn't been there before, had it? Too high up to be hung artwork, and there was no television there. Maybe it was a trick of the light... She stared at it, curious. A subtle shift of the dark form, then a gleam of reflected light caught on spiny teeth. The shape suddenly resolved into a recognizeable body, crouched and clinging to the wall, watching patiently.

Helen smiled broadly at the unexpected visitor, scooted aside, and propped herself up on one elbow while curling a finger in a 'come hither' gesture. It scrambled down the wall, leapt onto her bed with ease. She winced as the heavy creature's movement shifted her caged leg, but the creature settled against her and began re-aquainting itself with her scent. Its claws clinked against the metal rods holding her leg together.

"It's there to stay, I think." She spoke low as the monster studied the crude brace implanted in her flesh. "Tomorrow I'll try to walk on it, and if it works, I want out of here." The dark face turned towards her, nodded slightly, eyes catching a spark from a streetlamp outside. Staring at her hungrily, the monster continued to sniff its way up her body. Helen couldn't help her arousal, her triumphant joy at seeing the creature in such a bland setting, but she was also uneasy.

"Do you still want me around, " she hesitated, braced herself to be practical, "...ruined like this?"

A wide leer unfurled on the creature's face in answer. It crouched over her, its body just barely touching her. Growling softly, the monster nuzzled at her neck and exposed shoulder, extended a tongue to taste her skin. "Want...," it grumbled, "...**_need_**."

Helen supressed the hitch in her breathing, an involuntary response. She was surprised at the heat of her own need, flaring up in desperate revolt after long confinement. Scraping her fingertips across the monster's hide, the dead weight of inertia fell away, and she felt her old familiar ferocity return.

It reached down, twitched aside her hospital gown, pressed its strange body against her. Helen clutched at the creature's rough skin, pulled the monster closer, as though it might slip away again. She grasped its powerful torso, tense, wanting things her body could no longer deliver. _Dammit, I never thought I'd have to figure out how to have sex... This is going to be awkward._

She surrendered thought to instinct, and wound her good leg around one of the monster's. In a single heaving motion she flipped them both over, no longer minding the stabs that movement provoked in her healing bones.

Too engrossed in touching and smelling to mind the sudden shift, the creature only unfurled cramped wings out to either side. The broken leg was barely moveable, but Helen paid no heed, and straddled her eager lover, ran her fingers through the long white hairs at its groin. Her searching fingers found the stiffening organ, closed around it. Working in response, the monster's long, rough fingers grasped her hips, wound through her panties and snatched them away with an impatient gesture.

Helen clenched her teeth, knowing this would hurt, but not caring. The creature leaned its wrinkled face up while pulling her down, took some flesh of her shoulder between its teeth. Its body heaved up at the same time as she impaled herself; its jaws shuddered, bit down just enough to break the tender skin. Relentless despite her gasp of pain, the dark creature pushed into her, bucking until it was fully buried.

Sparks swam in her vision and her blood. While her creature had stilled within her, its hungry organ pulsing, it savored the drops of blood forming on the curve of her shoulder, licked them slowly away. The raw ache screaming in her hip slid away to a dull pressure, and she felt her own moisture seeping from around the monster's engorged cock.

She slowly lifted most of the way off, then drove down onto it again."...ahhhn!" A breathy wail slipped from her throat, seemed to excite her dark lover; Helen saw its eyes widen and glisten in the darkness as she turned her head aside. It reached up, grazed spiny teeth against her jawline, breath coming out in huffs as it bucked against her. With each sporadic thrust a surge of mingled pleasure and barbed agony coursed through her; she wanted it to stop, she wanted it to never stop. High-pitched groans began to trail from her parted lips.

Gray swarms gathered around the edges of her vision, numbed her extremities. Helen lost the strength to hold herself up, began sliding aside. The creature fluidly rolled them back over, never ceasing its movements, but slowing while it patted her cheek to revive her.

One sinewy arm rose like a pillar in front of her face. The hand lifted, pushed her head, forced her to look up again, and she saw the monster diving at her face. She craned to meet it; lips, tongues fought to devour the other's. Its teeth scraped along her lip, leaving tiny weeping lines; its clawed hand kneaded through her hair, pricking her scalp.

The creature's hips pounded against her once more, a clenched cry flew from her. Helen twisted her head in the creature's bony grasp, its thumb sinking into her mouth. As soon as she felt it there, she bit down, tightening her jaws in time with the monster's convulsions. It jerked its head back, snarling. Her groans resonated around the tense finger between her teeth.

x

The man woke up reluctantly, something had disturbed his sedated rest enough to jar him fully awake. It sounded like cats fighting or fucking just outside... but not outside, in the room. A cluster of shadowy spasmodic movement on the bed at the end of the room, the one nearest the window. For many seconds he thought the woman there must be in the throes of a seizure, but as he was groping for the nurse-call button, it finally edged through into his awareness that it wasn't just a woman on the bed - there was something on top of her. Some unnatural shape, performing some unnatural act on her, bestial, unhindered by the lack of privacy. The thing was snarling horribly, the sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen painfully, made him want to scramble out of his bed and run out of the room.

He couldn't move, never knew one could really be paralyzed by fear. And if he could have moved, what then? Call a nurse? Run away from some nightmarish thing that would easily overtake him, tear him to shreds... or worse? He couldn't even make his voice work, or his lungs, all he could do was stare bug-eyed into the vile contortion of shadows, holding his breath.

x

With each stab into her, a razor-sharp sweetness surged up her body, softening the hammer-blows to her shattered bone, every movement both exquisite and dreadful. Helen clenched her teeth hard, with a satisfying crunch bit cleanly through the first joint of the monster's thumb. A brief moment of slightly bitter and musky taste - then her mouth was full of dry dust, which dissolved to nothing. Her bitten lover seemed hardly to have noticed, continued plunging deeply into her more eagerly, growls becoming whines.

No warning, but a sudden blow of pleasure, as though she had been struck like a temple bell. Helen buried her head in her pillow to muffle the wails. No pain from her hip anymore, the exquisite had washed it clean away. The monster rooted her, quaked with unrestrained hunger. It came with a terrible snarling shudder, jerking into her wildly.

Calming, the beast lay over her, rested its bony head on her shoulder. Helen took great gasping breaths as her muscles twitched around the monster's softening organ. The creature licked her bites, inhaled the breath from her sweat-beaded face. After a time, it focussed again, growled a word to her. "Tomorrow." She beamed a pleasure-loosened smile back, excited and half-fearful. _I just hope I can walk..._

The creature peeled itself from her; catching sight of its damaged hand, realized its loss. "Yeah, uh, sorry about that," Helen whispered, holding back a snicker. "So is that why you're always biting..." she said, almost to herself.

x-x-x-x-x

Charlene Allen reached forward and turned off the windshield wipers. The spatters of rain had finally blown away, leaving only a vague, shifting mist lying low on the ground. The steam parted away from her car as it sped smoothly down the pavement. In her mind, she registered the orderly surrender as evidence, an affirmation of her status. _I am in complete control of my life. Anything, anyone that gets in my way, they can expect to be punished._

She was exhausted after her usual double shift, but ran through mental lists of the next day's priorities to stay alert. Board meeting, staff reviews, scheduled surgeries to assist. She looked at her hands, curled firmly around the steering wheel. _I could be a surgeon, I have a surgeon's hands. They know where to cut, to remove the contamination, where to guide flesh back together so it knits cleanly. Strong hands. Merciless hands._

Her attention was caught by a pair of headlights in her rearview mirror. Doctor Allen was momentarily peeved; she invariably had the road to herself at this time of night, and liked it that way. After glaring at the yellow beams for a moment, they disappeared. She sighed, satisfied that the interloper had turned off on a side road where they belonged.

_That god damn Murdoch woman, tomorrow her little fantasy comes to an end. I can't wait to see the look on her face..._

A horrifying shadow sped up behind her car, moments before the heart-stopping horn sounded. She jerked the wheel reflexively, had to struggle against the slick road to regain control. Her heart was racing with liquid ice by the time she got the car to stop fishtailing, but she barely had time to gather up her fury. The horn blared again, immediately followed by a bone-jarring collision; whoever was behind her had rammed her. The car squealed and shimmied, bounced back and forth. Some nutjob with his lights off was trying to run her off the road, and from all appearances he was serious.

Charlene pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor, feeling the supercharger kick in. From the sound of the horn, whatever was behind her was very old, and she grasped onto a shred of satisfaction that it couldn't possibly outrun her. Slowly, distance stretched out between her roaring car and the ominous shadow still in pursuit.

She breathed a sigh of relief through pursed lips as the attacker fell away into the darkness. _That was close. _Fumbling in her purse, she felt around through clutter until the smooth shape of her cell phone emerged. _Bastard must pay... _The numbers were pressed slowly with trembling fingers; Charlene didn't notice the bulky shadow rocketing towards her.

The force of the collision separated her car from the road, sent it spinning, then rolling across the shallow embankment. Metal crumpled and screamed all around her, tossed her violently with glass that exploded from the windows. In slow motion, she saw the headlights illuminating tall weeds, churned-up earth which leapt wildly.

The car finally lost momentum, and came to rest upside down. Doctor Allen faded in and out of consciousness, wallowed in confusion and vertigo. She hung from her seatbelt, not even feeling her crushed body, only aware that she could breathe. The darkness settled with the sounds of cooling metal.

Footsteps approached, a steady, heavy stride. She could barely turn her head, but saw the dark figure round the front of her smashed car, someone in a long coat, with no flashlight.

"...Help me..." she croaked with all the strength she could force from her lungs. The figure arrived at her door, then stopped. "Help me for fuck's sake..." she demanded again. When only silence answered, she heard the sound. Sniffing. A brief flash of terror that there might be gas leaking -_ No! God don't let me be blown up! _- but the sniffing was more insistent, ...more feral. Like a wolf scenting a wounded deer.

The figure dropped to a crouch, and she saw the face - the dark, wrinkled, malignant face. Suddenly she couldn't breathe, could only watch, bloodless and helpless. The figure leaned in through the broken window, closed a strong hand on her wrist, stretched her arm out to its face. Her hand, the strong surgeon's hand, was closely examined, every finger smelled. As her blood ran cold, she saw lips pull back from a hideous set of teeth, long and sharp. _No... oh no no..._

Charlene Allen scarcely felt her thumb being bitten off, clean through as though it were a breadstick, but she heard the dull crunch, felt the pull and release from her numb arm. Then, somehow satisfied with that lunatic mutilation, the thing dropped her and strode away. She gasped in shallow breaths, listened to the footsteps receding in the damp weeds. _I'll make it after all, I will... I..._she thought, groggy, fading, before her head drooped to swing limp and lifeless.

_End of Chapter 15_

A/N: I'm hoping there are readers who will take up my challenge to critique this. Yes, editing. Do you have any suggestions? Helpful advice? Constructive criticism? Anything? I am as fallible as the next person, so this incredibly long story could use some audience participation, so to speak.

And if honey doesn't work, I start in with the threats. Such as... - no more chapters until I get some voices besides the ones in me head.

I did tell you right at the start that I'm a sadist. >:-)

Songs for Chapter 14: 'Walking After Midnight' by Patsy Cline, 'Little Red Riding Hood' by Sam the Sham, 'Ain't Misbehavin' ' by Louie Armstrong, 'Trouble' by Jackie DeShannon

Songs for Chapter 15: 'I'm Your Boogie Man' by K.C. and the Sunshine Band


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16_

Gritting her teeth behind tight-pressed lips, Helen swung her leg forward. It felt like there was an iron ball shackled to her ankle, for all the effort it took. But there, her muscles were working, and the supports held her weight; it was heaven just to be upright and walking.

"Yeah, you got the feel of it, Miz Murdoch." The physical therapy nurse stood back, allowed Helen to practice on her new hardware. "The bionic woman, you are."

She walked step by step to the end of the handrail, then back. It was both difficult to bring the leg forward, and surprisingly easy at the same time. After a few steps she had figured out why; her muscles were in slightly different positions, to allow the brace to work at all. It therefore required a different pattern of movement to walk. A lift, swing forward, settle and shift weight. Once she got accustomed to it, it became a natural, fluid motion.

"I still feel like I might fall over, though." she muttered, frowning. Helen wondered if she'd be able to get up by herself if she **did** fall. One drawback of the brace was its limited range of motion. No sideways movement at all, the leg could now only go forward or back.

The nurse studied Helen's careful steps, a process like learning to ride a bicycle. "You'll probably need to use a cane from now on." He said, avoiding her icy glance at the mention of permanent disability. "Not to support weight, just to add stability to your gait." Many patients that had to re-learn to walk were very proud, hated needing canes and walkers, but he knew better than to sweet-talk them with false hopes.

She reached the end of the handrail and sat gingerly on the bench. _Better to ask **him** than the bitch doctor, he at least will tell it to me straight. _"Do you think I'll ever be able to run, with this?" She gestured at the metal rods bracing her right leg, scowling despite her delight at being mobile. "I need to know the truth."

The nurse shifted position, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I really don't know, Miz Murdoch. It's possible, but everyone heals differently." He caught her sceptical frown, hurried to continue. "And you have to understand, most people who want to be active would go for the full prosthetics. This rig is only meant to give the most basic mobility, not help you win the World Cup." Chewing his lip, the nurse pondered for a moment as he began re-adjusting the set screws on her brace, lengthening the rods a fraction. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just between you and me, though... once you get used to it, I think you'll be surprised." The puckish glint in his eye almost looked familiar, a vicious mischievous streak.

Helen tried to relax in her wheelchair as the nurse recorded stress test results, but the discomfort of aching bones and muscles made it hard to sit still. A newspaper on a small table nearby caught her attention; a bold headline in serious block letters was hard to miss, especially on a small-town paper where news was usually of the mundane variety. As she pulled the paper over and began reading, a sly smile crept onto her face. She folded the paper, tucking it beside her in the chair for safekeeping.

A familiar face came to wheel Helen back to her room; Nurse Grosberg, wearing a strange expression of unease. Noticing they were headed in the wrong direction, Helen twisted her head back to raise a questioning eyebrow. The nurse nodded, twisting her lips into a hesitant smile. "Yeah, you've got a new room as of now. Just wait a minute, and I'll tell you why." Her voice carried both an admiring and almost accusatory undertone. Helen sat back with difficulty; she wanted to get off her ass and walk, but she forced herself to be patient.

They finally reached her new quarters, at the end of a rather dreary and silent hallway. This wing seemed stale and forgotten, a warehouse for those who would die here of one terminal disease or another. The room she was wheeled into was small and empty, save for one stark hospital bed and a small dresser. Helen's few personal belongings lay on it, as though whoever had brought them here hadn't wanted to handle them for any longer than necessary.

She didn't relish the idea of spending any more time horizontal, but the wheelchair was very uncomfortable to her tired muscles, so with a grimace, Helen pulled herself up and settled into the bed. The nurse opened the window to let some fresh air in, then turned to lean on the back of the little chair beside it. "The hospital has decided it would be best if you had a room to yourself from now on." She gave her quick flashing smile, betraying the serious tone of her voice. "You're bad luck, did you know that?"

Helen remained silent, wondering what had happened to give her such a reputation. Rather, wondering which of the many things she could imagine had been the cause.

The nurse continued. "Since you came here, some pretty unusual things have been going down. People going missing,**_ things _**going missing, a rash of hallucinations..." She raised an eyebrow, hoping to read some explaination in Helen's stony face, but Helen only frowned, and asked, "Things...?"

"I shouldn't be telling you this at all." Nurse Grosberg said with a chuckle. "The morgue has been burglarized twice in the last two days, as well as a heart scheduled for transplant surgery. Body parts don't just get up and walk away, but that's what seems to be the case." She paused. "We also found out that your favorite doctor, Dr. Allen, died in a car wreck early this morning." The nurse pursed her lips, continued in a low, wondering tone. "She apparently fell asleep at the wheel after a double shift. Not that anyone would have cause to suspect **_you_** had anything to do with that, but there's more..."

Helen carefully maintained her blank face, aware that in itself it was inappropriate.

"This morning one of your neighbors went stark raving insane. You were already in physical therapy when they came to give him his morning meds, but long story short, they had to sedate him and strap him down. The man's been transferred to the Psych ward." Nurse Grosberg humphed, confounded. "He was blubbering and screaming before the thorazine kicked in, about something that we've been hearing a lot of in the last day or two. Like a dead zombie thing that crawls around on walls, sniffs at people in the night." The nurse leveled a penetrating gaze at Helen. "Crazy, huh."

"Yeah, crazy." With difficulty, Helen restrained herself from bursting out in laughter. "Poor guy."

x-x-x-x-x

A deep, booming rumble shuddered through the hospital, a warning from turbulent skies. From the rich ozone smell that wafted through her open window, she knew another storm was gathering. Helen smiled, satisfied with the exciting weather for her imminent departure; she was sore but ebullient.

The next thunderclap built up to a sharp crescendo; as though on cue, Mena appeared in the doorway, her face brightly lit like a full moon by lightning. Helen blinked, stared for a moment, marvelling at the girl's ability to change from one day to the next, even from one hour to the next. Today she seemed older, mellowed, yet tempered to a sharp edge. The girl wore a curious half-smile along with her tigerish gaze. _If I didn't know better I'd say she's been up to no good. _To answer her own suspicions, Helen reached over to the nightstand, held up the newspaper.

The headline read: '**LOCAL TAVERN TORCHED, 17 Missing**'. "You?" she said, leering.

Mena huffed a short laugh. "It seemed like more."

"Missing...?" asked Helen, wrinkling her eyebrows together.

"It's a surprise." Mena whispered. She looked around her at the tiny, dingy room, perplexity on her face. Helen read the unspoken question.

"I'm bad for business. They moved me here this morning after another patient went berserk." Helen snorted, swung carefully off the bed. "I'm ready to get out of here, but I can't walk very fast, ...will you pack up my-"

Another tearing crash of thunder struck just as a brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the room. The lights went out afterward; a few seconds later emergency lights kicked in. Alarms could be heard in the distance from many directions, as well as shouts of dismay and confusion. The two women looked at each other. _A good time to leave_, thought Helen.

The shouts soon turned to screams, growing ever nearer. Helen hastily shrugged a jacket on as Mena packed up her aunt's bag, stuffing items into it without neatness. A strangled yell from down the hallway got their attention; whatever the disturbance was, it was coming their way, and fast. The obvious reason rushed into their heads - the monster had come. Tearing a swath of panic and destruction all the way up from the ER, taking advantage of the storm's fury to add to the confusion, it homed in on Helen's new room.

In a flurry of tattered and bloodstained clothing, the creature burst into the room. It held a shorn-off foot, and was munching on it like a carnival hot dog. In its other hand was a long slightly curving rod, which it brought to Helen with a playful sparkle in its eyes. It took Helen several seconds to recognize what the gift was - a cane, beautifully made.

She stroked the carved surface, admired the scenes playing out across it. There she was, and there her monster was, mouth wide with hungry passion. The cane was carved of sections of bone, probably femurs from their girth, a subtle joke perhaps. At the top, where the grip was, a wide claw recurved back down to make a hook. Helen put it to the floor, tested the feel. It was perfectly sized, if a bit heavy.

Picking it up again, she noticed a metal band several inches under the grip. A gleeful suspicion crept into her mind, and she twisted the cane, felt a satisfying click as the section came loose. With a metallic whisper, she unsheathed the blade inside - it was a sword-cane, and one unlike any she'd ever seen. A blade more like a lithe scimitar than the usual rapier, curving gently from hilt to tip; it had a deadly feminine heft, light but razor-sharp.

The sword-cane was a work of art, and more - it was obviously made for hunting.

Raindrops and hail pelted against the window as the storm whipped into a frenzy. Shouts from the hallway recalled them to more urgent matters, getting the hell out of here. Helen resheathed her blade, began stepping out of the room, but saw a wall of hospital security guards scrambling up the corridor. Some of them were smeared with blood, all of them had guns drawn. They appeared to be following the monster's trail of mayhem, terrified of what had caused all the destruction, but determined to track it down.

She jerked back into the room, scowling. "That way's no good." The monster finished its snack, strode to the window, smashing it with a bony shoulder. It shredded off its coat, freeing its leathery wings, gestured for Helen to join it.

A guard spun into the room, gun pointed at the ceiling beside his head. His eyes were wide and his mouth set in a tense line, but when he caught sight of the monster, impatiently flapping its wings before the rain-swept window, the blood ran from his face. His mouth worked in a soundless scream, and he leveled the gun at the hideous thing.

Helen pulled her blade out in a smooth fluid motion. Wind whipped crazily through the room, creating a mad vortex of leaves, raindrops, and cool sharp air. The guard reached his other arm out, tried to pull Helen back behind him, not able to grasp that she was brandishing a sword like lightning. At his touch, she snapped the blade up, slicing cleanly through his forearm. He stared open-mouthed at the stump, jaw still working, finally erupted in a shriek of pain and loss. Helen brought her sword back down across his neck; a meaty resonance sang through the blade as the man's head slid from his body, thumped rolling across the linoleum.

The monster grabbed her about the waist, dove out the smashed window just as the other guards spilled into the room. Mena planted one of her rope-hooks on the sill and jumped out, rappeling down the side of the building amid swirling rain and crazy zigzags of lightning. As she hit the ground, she flicked the rope, freeing the hook, and wound it around her arm as she bounded off into the downpour. The security guards were left gaping at the torn-apart window as the storm carried its children away.

x-x-x-x-x

Damage control. The hospital held impromptu staff briefings all day to try to contain the flood of hysterical rumors that were circulating.

The best they could work out was that at the onset of the storm, a drug-crazed lunatic had entered the ER, branishing a knife and killing several people. He escaped to the upper floors, where security lost his trail. Shortly afterward, a guard was killed in a freak accident, when an apparent lightning strike caused a window to explode; the glass severing his hand and head.

Oddly, most of the glass was found outside, as though the window had been broken from the inside, but this was chalked up to a powerful dropin baromentric pressure, common in thunderstorms.

Three other security guards swore they saw something - _something_ - grab a patient from that same room and fly away. Two more said they didn't see the patient, but did see some huge bat flapping off into the boiling clouds. All were given indefinite leave for nervous stress.

The hospital didn't seem too concerned that a patient was missing, Nurse Grosberg noted wryly. Probably because it was **_that _**patient, the one with a reputation for sinister coincidences. The hospital was relieved she was missing, glad to be rid - however mysteriously - of a bad influence. The circumstances might be inexplicable, but the outcome was welcome.

The whole chaotic affair was wrapped up, the episode of the bad-luck patient concluded, and the hospital gratefully returned to its quiet hum of routine.

Only one nurse suspected that their brief guest had been at the center of the mayhem, and she wasn't going to kick over the house of cards they'd built up to explain the mess. Susan Grosberg silently wished she could go wherever her strange patient had gone. In the meantime, she knew how to keep her dark suspicions to herself.

_End of Chapter 16_

A/N: I had already written off the Evil Doctor Allen as dead by the time I got the suggestions for her drawn-out torture. I did take them into serious consideration, but decided to leave it as it was - an ignominious death, not even worthy of more attention by either the monster or Helen. Besides, it's time to put that god-awful hospital in the past.

More suggestions are always welcome - even if I don't use them, I always mull them over. Thanks everyone for your support and enthusiasm!


	17. Chapter 17

_Chapter 17_

Helen sighed, put the scissors down. Her pants leg flayed open from cuff to hip, she could now pull them on over her hardware. The flesh pierced by rods was still very tender after moving around so much, but she felt the draft from the tunnels, even more so now that the cold crept inside her. She shivered, disconcerted to be so chilled at this time of year. The flight through the clouds had soaked her to the bone. Exhilarating, especially since she was wearing so much metal while lightning crackled all around, but brisk.

The fire crackled contentedly, and she settled a little closer. Sewing some straps onto the cut edges to hold her pants together, she breathed in deeply, savored the smells of home. Home wasn't just one place, it was a melange of friends and experiences, a state of mind, a feeling of rightness. Everything the hospital hadn't been.

A few feet away, Mena sat at the creature's workbench, kneading a gooey mixture into some leather. With barely-subdued enthusiasm, she had shown her aunt the latest project; a set of clothes made from leftover skins.

The monster had discarded many of the skins from the previous night's rampage, having found then unworthy of preserving. Mena, however, had a burning desire to learn the strange beast's art, and conjured a use for a few throwaways. "I'm getting tired of the ripped-up clothing thing." she told her aunt, describing the idea for her leathers. "Sewing is fine once in a while, but every fucking night? And then again in the morning, too?" Helen winked, catching the hint. She was glad the girl had gotten over her temporary shyness around the monster. Glad also that the monster seemed to have eased up on her, and not driven her to distraction.

"I did warn you about the clothes," Helen chuckled. "I'll want go back to my house tomorrow to grab a change myself." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to think how many days it had been since she'd been there last. Five days! It seemed like so many more...

x-x-x-x-x

Chapter 17

Henry Ernest Jzykorowski wiped the sweat from his forehead, and loosened his collar a bit. A momentary wave of rebellious desperation washed over him, the thought that taking his roman collar off and opening his shirt a few buttons would be the common-sense thing to do, but Reverend 'Jake' calmed himself, fought back the hedonistic urge to be comfortable. It was far more important to remain a visibly steadfast example to his far-flung flock; as a young minister he had to set a high standard, else people wouldn't take him seriously, and might slip into sin.

Besides, on a mission such as the one he pursued now, he needed all the righteousness he could muster; the evil he was up against would surely feed on selfish impulses.

He leafed through his newspaper clippings and notes in a manilla folder. He was drawing ever closer to the Shadow Man, he could feel it. After having spent weeks on the trail of this mysterious entity, signs suddenly began appearing in his path; unexplained disappearances, tales of a ghost truck that terrorized drivers on lonely highways, ominous disasters that seemed to crop up for no reason. He was certain the Shadow Man had returned, and like the hand of divine justice, Henry was here to put an end to his reign of evil. Just the thought that he should play such a vital role in the battle sent a surge of pride through him. _May God find me worthy to rid the world of such wickedness._

The previous evening, he had spent a couple of hours at a local hospital, which was recovering from a minor catastrophe. Something had happened during a violent afternoon storm, but nobody's story was the same. A few tried to placate him that it had been nothing, just some overworked staff having a field day. Another said there had been deaths, but as to how many and what the circumstances were, it seemed to be anyone's guess. Finally he had wrung a tale from a badly shaken guard, still on the job even though he had been given leave.

The guard was reluctant to talk about what he had witnessed at first, but gentle coaxing had wrung a detailed story from him. Too afraid to leave the hospital alone, the guard had remained after a personally traumatic experience. The young itinerant preacher had seemed like a godsend, a welcome shoulder to lean on, a benevolent ear in which to confess his terrors. The story had gushed from him, interspersed with sobs and bouts of trembling.

Something had been there at the hospital, not a normal man, the guard insisted. It took dozens of bullets without harm, before escaping upstairs. Soon afterward the something had sprouted horrible wings, wings like some monstrous bat, and had flown out a window. The guard shook his head, shuddering. "I saw what I saw, I just wish I hadn't seen it. Things like that aren't real... I hope I **_am_** crazy. ...Knowing something like that is out there- ...I don't think I'll ever sleep again."

There was more, though. Just before flying away, the thing had grabbed a patient to carry with it. The guard was positive that this at least was true, even though others at the hospital acted scandalized at the suggestion that they'd lost a patient. He didn't know the patient's name, but did pass on a tidbit of information; she had been recently moved after rumors put her in a bad light. It seemed she had a reputation for scandalous behavior, or for being some kind of cursed witch, depending on who was asked. People in her vicinity went crazy, had hallucinations, ...or died. Some refused to speak of her at all.

Henry finally found a night nurse who revealed her name: Helen Murdoch. The nurse said it was good riddance that the woman had disappeared, that she had been surly and uncooperative, had even punched her doctor in the face. The same doctor had died in a car accident within a day.

He had taken notes of everything, taped the newspaper report - sanitized for the public - into his folder. A few minutes searching through phone books had turned up nothing; either this Helen Murdoch was unlisted, or she didn't have a telephone. So, first thing this morning, he had gone to the county courthouse and searched public records, finally turning up an address. It was far out in the country, a couple hours drive away, but he was unperturbed. A knight on a quest does not frown on obstacles, but welcomes them.

So here he was at the woman's house, sweating in his car. At first it hard to tell if anyone was home; a truck parked beside the house looked like it might run, but the front door was shut and locked. After walking a circuit around the small house, he began looking for signs of recent activity. There were muddy footprints near the back door, only slightly washed out from yesterday's storm. Tire tracks in the dirt driveway were the same; fresh under the overhanging trees, but blurred out in the open.

_Someone_ had been here in the last couple of days.

He took polaroids of the tire tracks, just for reference, then returned to his car to consider what to do next. This missing woman had been his best lead so far, but if he couldn't find her, what then? Maybe the Shadow Man really **had** taken her. He tried to stay objective. _Maybe she's just out on errands. I can't jump to conclusions, or I'll never get anywhere._

He mopped the sweat from his forehead, sketched on his notebook. From the the various descriptions he'd gotten, the Shadow Man was just as his nickname implied - shadowy. He drew a shape on the blank paper, a dark man in a long, ragged coat. The man had large, reptilian claws for hands and feet, and great bat-like wings sprouted from his shoulders. Piercing eyes glinted from a shadowed face. That was one thing everyone who'd seen it agreed on.

x-x-x-x-x

Henry had gotten his start at an early age, setting off on revival tours when he was nineteen. Most people didn't want to listen to the fervent preaching of a teenager, but he had developed a reputation for stirring his congregations into a spiritual frenzy. It gave him such a rush to bring them all together to the Lord, he had to check himself sometimes, lest he become too arrogant.

Then a few months ago, he passed through a part of the country new to him; a fresh backwater to preach in. He always tried to pay attention to the concerns of his congregations, because each one might have different evils to overcome, but he began hearing tales of some unknown evil hanging over this area. Just whispered hints here and there - few would speak openly of it, but many were afraid of something wandering out on the lonely highways.

He came to believe these stories - so many different people had seen the same dark thing, or lost a loved one. A few retired policemen from the local sheriff's station told him of a monster that had rampaged through the building many years back, something that ate hands and feet and human hearts. These crusty old men, hardened by years of service, told the most hair-raising tales, and it was clear to Henry that they had been shaken to the core by their horrific experience that night.

Another person had been present at the police station, a black woman named Giselle Hartman. She lived in a house on the edge of town, and welcomed the young preacher in, nodding sadly when he asked her about the strange events of that night. Her tightly curled hair was snow-white, and her face lined from worry. She held a hand to her forehead as though her head ached.

Giselle claimed to have dreamed about the thing that had torn the police station apart. It was on the trail of a boy it wanted, and anything that got in its way suffered horribly. She said the thing was a demon, that it would live forever by getting body parts from people it wanted. Resigned, weary, Giselle seemed to have given up hope. She told Henry he was better off to leave the thing alone, but gave him a small silver cross as he left her house, "just for luck".

He tracked down survivors of a bus accident from around the same time, difficult because most had moved far away, despite having families in the area. One woman he spoke with was vehement that the thing would return someday. Mindy Johnston, once called 'Minxie' by her friends, told a story much more detailed than any other he'd heard.

"It won't die... he didn't kill it. It **will **come back, and it'll just keep killing and eating. _Every twenty-three years..._" she whispered. "No one can stop it. Whoever tries, it'll just kill them too." she insisted, her face pale with the resurfacing memories.

"Who thought he killed it?" Henry asked gently, scribbling names and notes in his book.

"That old guy, Taggert. It killed his younger son, and he hunted it and brought it down, but the monster wasn't really dead. I told him," she sobbed once, "but he wouldn't believe me." Mindy covered her face with shaking hands. "I think he took the body home with him."

The woman told him where the Taggert farm was, but refused to go along as a friendly face. She didn't want to get involved, seeming to believe that doing so might draw the monster's attention to her.

Henry found the farm a few days later. A sign out on the highway made his heart race; he was on the right path. The farmstead looked recently abandoned; there were notes taped to the front door, but no signs of life. It was only when he looked in the barn that the reality of this quest struck home; the Shadow Man was not only real, but he was really what people had described - a killer. Pools of black, congealed blood surrounded the post-puncher device inside the doors. Something awful had happened here recently.

A spark of light on a metal cable caught his eye; it led to a pole protruding from an upper wall, and he looked up to see a peculiar blank space. Peculiar because something had been there, something labelled with a sign. 'BAT OUT OF HELL'. All that remained now were some huge rusty nails protruding from the wall, and shallow piles of dust on the floor. Whatever had been there was gone, and had taken the Taggerts along with it, one way or another.

That was two days ago.

Now, his only hope was that the Murdoch woman could provide a lead to this demon, this Shadow Man. If she turned up, the trail might run cold again, but at least he could get her side of the story.

x-x-x-x-x

The long driveway bore two pairs of fresh tire-tracks, Helen could see them distinctly in the mud. A surge of territorial resentment rose in her chest, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to see beyond the curve of the trees. A thought crossed her mind and she turned to her niece, but the girl was shaking her head. "That's not me. I was here, but someone else has been here since the storm." They both fell silent, simmering in thought.

When the house came into view, they saw an old sedan in front, and a man sitting inside it. Helen cast a look to Mena, an unspoken caution to keep quiet. As they pulled up beside him in Mena's jeep, Helen saw that it was a young man, dressed in a minister's black shirt and priest collar. She nearly laughed when she saw the look on the guy's face, one of mingled disappoinment and awkward relief. If this young man was here to save her soul, he'd have a hell of a time trying.

x-x-x-x-x

Trying to contain his disappointment, Henry peeled himself from his car. She was fine, she couldn't have been kidnapped by the Shadow Man after all. Oh well, not all of the stories could be true.

"Hidey, Ma'am." he called out.

She was pointedly quiet as she carefully extracted herself from Mena's vehicle. A medieval-looking brace was partially imbedded into her right leg, and she steadied herself with a handsomely carved cane as she began walking up to the steps. When she was on the top step, she turned, addressed him for the first time. "Good morning, Father." She smirked as she said it, probably aware that he was half her age.

"Just Reverend, Ma'am," he said, smiling warmly. He stepped closer, held out a hand to introduce himself. "Reverend Henry Jzykorowski, but you can call me Jake." She didn't take his hand, only nodded her acknowledgment. He realized, blushing, that she probably couldn't take his hand because of her handicap. "I just came to check up on you... some people at the hospital were concerned. Seems they thought you'd been kidnapped."

The woman studied him for an uncomfortably long time as her young companion unloaded a couple of bundles from the jeep. She seemed to reach a decision, and nodded again. "Helen Murdoch. Glad to meet you, Reverend Jake. Why don't you come on in, join us for lunch." It was a command almost, not even disguised as a question - _You can come in or you can leave now._ He gratefully accepted, hoping it would be cooler inside.

He heard her address the girl as 'Mena' while they got settled. Mena helped Ms. Murdoch get into a soft chair in the kitchen, spoke something softly something in her ear. The woman smiled, nodded, turned to speak to her visitor.

"So, they've been making up more wild tales about me, huh?"

Henry grinned sheepishly, embarrassed that he'd been too accepting of every unlikely account. "Well ma'am-"

"Call me Helen, please,"she interrupted.

"Helen then. There was some confusion at the hospital yesterday, and you're considered missing by a few there. I only wanted to know you're ok."

The woman frowned. "Confusion...?" Mena worked in the kitchen, reaching down an iron skillet, unwrapping a package from the freezer. He noticed with pleasure that the package contained thin sandwich steaks. _Her reputation for hostility must be groundless, they sure know how to treat a travelling minister with hospitality!_

"Well," he began, unwilling to sound like a complete fool. "A crazy man tore through the hospital, and some people thought he'd abducted you, but obviously you're fine."

She smiled broadly. "No crazy man here."

"No ma'am - Helen - but I couldn't rest until I was sure you were alright." The smell of sizzling steak reached his nostrils, making his mouth water. "I've been on a sort of quest, tracking down this shady character, and it sounded like it might have been him."

Helen bent forward to put her elbows on her knees. "Tell me about this 'shady character'. It sounds fascinating, especially since he is supposed to have kidnapped me..."

Interlacing his fingers together, Henry hesitated. He didn't want to sound crazy, himself. "Well... it's going to seem like a ridiculous idea, but I'm on the trail of this ...person... who some say has been on a murder spree in this area, going on twenty-five years or more." Mena set three plates down on the table, each holding a huge sandwich of coarse bread and steak. He thanked her, lowered his head to say a quick prayer of gratitude for such benevolent hosts.

"Tell me more." Helen demanded, taking a huge bite of her sandwich. Henry's mouth was already full - he hadn't realized how hungry he was. The sandwich was incredibly savory, and he put it down with reluctance. He swallowed and continued.

"There's talk of a man who drives around in a big old truck, runs people off the road. Sometimes he abducts people, and... well, this is going to sound crazy, but..."

The woman raised her eyebrow over her sandwich, seeming unconcerned about his sanity.

"Talk is that he eats people." he said, chewing on his lip for a moment before taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Really." Helen said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

Suddenly the world exploded into black stars.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena stood behind the young minister, holding the iron skillet, ready for another blow if he should recover too quickly. When his limp form - slumped over his plate - didn't move, she set the skillet on the table, slid into her seat. Helen glared at the unconscious man, thinking. "We'll have to take him with us. First him, then his car." She sighed, licked her lips. "These are mighty good, Mena. We might domesticate you yet!" she teased.

The girl rolled her eyes, picking up her sandwich. "You're incorrigible, Aunt Hel."

After they had finished their meal, Mena went out to inspect the young man's car, while Helen began packing some fresh clothes in preparation for their return to the Catacombs. She was folding up a pair of loose jeans when the girl came in, holding a manilla folder and a disturbed frown. "Look at this. He **_has_** been on our friend's trail."

News articles were taped in among handwritten notes, eyewitness accounts of the monster's appearance. Many names were scribbled on a notepad, and Helen's was at the bottom. Polaroids of tire tracks spilled out of the folder onto the floor. Tire tracks in weedy mud, in dried mud, in silty potholes; a scrawled note at the bottom of each picture told where the tracks were found. A folded-up map had red circles all over it, but it was unclear what they meant.

Helen was shocked at the extent of the man's research. "This is serious. Talk about hunting, he's a natural." An idea occured to her. She turned to her niece, handed the folder back. "Burn this. Now." she said, returning to the task at hand. "We'll take the rest with us."

_End of Chapter 17_

* * *

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! This coming part is one I've been waiting to write for a long time, and it's gonna get nasty. If you want to know where my inspiration comes from, read The Story of the Eye by Georges Bataille. It's extremely graphic, be warned.

Mena's leathermaking project is probably not very realistic. Leathermaking takes time, more time than I'm writing it, but as my beta reader said, "That's why it's called fiction". So there.


	18. Chapter 18

**WARNING:** Sex, gore, and the angst of a preacher. Minors, _shoo!_

_Chapter 18_

His head was pounding. He was muffled in dark cobwebs, and thankfully there was no light, but the pounding was almost audible, like the grinding thump of heavy machinery. A momentary wave of nausea swept over him, and he swallowed hard several times to quell it.

A snuffling near his face made his hair stand on end. Henry couldn't see what was sniffing at him, but it sounded like a very large animal. Rising panic threatened to engulf him, and he moaned, trying to remember if there were bears in this part of the country, or mountain lions.

He must have hit his head, or fallen into a cave, or an abandoned mine shaft. He tried to remember where he had been last.

Helen Murdoch... he was eating lunch at her house, and then, ...and then what?

A gravelly voice cut through the darkness. "Not good ...bones," the disembodied voice rasped out, travelling away from where he lay sprawled in the darkness. Henry had the unpleasant thought that the voice belonged to whatever had been smelling him, but ...talking animals? That was crazy, crazier even than the demon he had been tracking down.

It hit him like a ton of lead, that the voice might be the demon thing, the Shadow Man. A few of the witnesses had warned him to stay away from it, not to attract its attention, but what if the thing had found him out? Fear encompassed him in a new shroud, numbing his skin, making his heart pound wildly.

He realized there was a hood covering his head only as it was pulled off. The hasty fist that yanked the cloth away also tore a few strands of his hair with it, squeezing a yelp of pain and fear from his parched throat. Blinking rapidly, Henry tried to focus on the blurred surroundings.

He wasn't in a cave, but in some kind of industrial command center. Soft, flickering light came from several kerosene lamps, and from a few weakly glowing bulbs in wire cages. When his eyes paused on the worktable covered in a bloody ruin, his mind reeled. Half a human face, eyes bugged out blindly, ribs standing exposed. _A body, God save me - I've stumbled into a killer's slaughterhouse!_ His vision dimmed around the edges; all he could see was that half-destroyed corpse.

A voice from behind him made him jump. "Rise and shine, sweetie." He snapped his head around, saw a familiar face. It was the woman, Helen, staring at him cooly, smiling - like the Mona Lisa - as though a secret, witty joke had just been told. "You're in luck. He doesn't think you're much good to eat... not just yet anyway." She chuckled. "He has been known to change his mind when he gets hungry."

There was no sign of the 'he' she spoke of, but that didn't ease his roiling mind. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't have left this so-called quest alone after all, certainly it had been foolhardy to go chasing after a demon. Helen seemed to read his thoughts.

"Snooping into things better left unseen, _tsk_, bad choice," she said casually, but with a steely, threatening undertone. "Who else knows what you've been doing?"

He had the sense to know what she was driving at. If he hadn't told anyone, they could kill him. He and all his research would disappear, and how many people would go looking for a travelling preacher? If, however, he **had** told anyone about his quest, he would be safe for as long as it took these people to go after them. The pathetic truth was that he had never shared his suspicions with anyone, fearing they would think him crazy. He lowered his head in shame and terror.

"No one, huh? I'm not surprised." Helen laughed. "Nobody likes people who stick their noses," she reached up a hand, threading it through his ruffled dark hair, jerked his head back, "where they don't belong."

Henry cried out, though he tried to stifle it. His head was still tender, and the woman was rough with him. She mussed his hair, making him wince, as she rose stiffly. "Make yourself at home," she called over her shoulder. Helen reached down, picked up a small object from the floor, tossed it at his feet. It was a granola bar. As he reached to pick it up, he was dismayed to see that his ankle had a huge, crudely-formed shackle around it, with a chain that ran to a pipe on the wall. He was a prisoner to these murderous people.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena watched the man from a catwalk, hidden in the shadows. This young minister was an unexpected surprise. She had barely been able to look at him when he came in for lunch at Aunt Hel's. Partially because he had made such a tragically funny mistake coming there that she could barely contain her laughter, but also because he was so damn cute.

Rev. Henry's hair was black, or dark enough brown to look black anyway, once cut short, but getting shaggy. He had eyes a sparkling midnight blue, and a clean-cut beauty that sometimes cropped up in Tennessee or Kentucky. Mena wondered if roses would come to his cheeks if she slapped them.

He was weeping quietly now, after a long bout of mumbled prayer. She'd had to shove her fist in her mouth during that; if he thought a plea to a higher power would help him here, he was welcome to it, but she also felt strangely solemn about it. Interrupting his fervent prayer with laughter somehow seemed... rude.

His timidity irritated her. _There must be more to him if he can preach successfully; to move people with words takes a strength not of the body, but of the spirit, of the will._ Mena had an urge to prod him, to make him show his teeth. Somehow...

x-x-x-x-x

Time passed like cold molasses. Henry wept, sure that these were to be the last hours of his life. He had tried to pray, but the urgent words just seemed to bounce back at him from the high walls, mocking his despair. He now rested his head on folded arms, with knees drawn up to his chest. As he prepared himself to die, and probably in some messy, painful way, a desire rose ever so slowly within him. A desire to live.

An inner conversation began to form, an argument with his own soul.

Maybe I can reason with them.

Arguing with madmen will get you nowhere. They've already decided, they won't listen to reason.

The Shadow Man, maybe he's not real, maybe these women are just insane and using the legends as cover.

He is real, I've seen enough evidence, heard enough witnesses describe the same thing.

Perhaps then, I can appeal to their humanity. The Shadow Man is no friend to humankind, surely they fear his bloodthirsty hunger, too.

If these two ever had any humanity, it is long gone now. I saw her dismembering that corpse. Eating from it.

The argument went on and on, confusing him, driving him deeper into despair.

x-x-x-x-x

He started, realized he'd been drifting off. Not just drifting off, but asleep for awhile, as the deeper shadows in this hellish den announced. Henry lifted his head, checked his surroundings once again, hoping for some loophole in his prison, some miracle. Instead he saw the third member of the gang, dragging a headless body by one foot across the room.

What the hell is that?

What is it? Oh my God, it's real, it's not a costume. And that's... that's what they described. That's the man - thing - that killed all those high school kids in the bus accident. The thing has - oh my God... it has wings. Enormous, leathery bat wings, like... Oh God no.

It's the **Devil**.

Ugly as sin, what other way would the Devil look? A grotesque mockery of a man. The hawkish nose, long pointy chin with an illusion of beard hairs, the cruel, malicious face. I'd recognise that set of characteristics anywhere, any child would. His skin isn't red, though... that's odd. It looks lumpy... rotten. The color of slimy old mildew. And... no tail. But it **is** the Devil. I know it.

Ah God! - it's coming over, ...can't bear its gaze, it's so evil. Bending over me, its vile skin in my face. It's... smelling me again. What does the Devil smell for? What does it want? Its head, up close, and I can see them now.

The horns.

Not at all like the pictures, two little neat black Pan-horns, no. These are horns ...like fingers - long claws around its horrible misshapen head.

Its eyes narrowing - ughh! they're awful! No... it's grinning. God, guhhh... the teeth! Jesus, help me!

Henry began struggling, squawks of panic rising to short screams. The creature had grabbed one of the his flailing arms, and brought the hand to its face. A lick to a fingertip, then it disappeared into those spiky jaws, was gone in the blink of an eye. Henry screeched shrilly, stunned at his sudden loss, while the monster crunched happily. It watched him panting and moaning for a few moments, then abruptly turned away and left the him to clutch a mangled hand to his chest.

As the monster returned to the worktable, Helen gave it a questioning frown.

"Crunchy." was her companion's response.

Helen barked out a laugh. "Bet you can't eat just one!" The monster leered, reached for the chalkboard.

THERE ARE 204 IN EVERY BODY

Henry could hear the woman's laughter, unaccountable in the hellish dungeon. Her words, and the Devil's growled speech, seemed to be referring to him as snack food. He felt consciousness draining from him, and fell limp and senseless to the floor.

x-x-x-x-x

Pressing her foot hard against the accelerator, Mena pushed the engine in the preacher's old car to go as fast as it could. She followed landmarks described by her aunt, made her way towards the old quarry where the monster sometimes dumped cars. It certainly wasn't easy to find; she had to drive back and forth on the two-lane highway several times before locating the tiny road, so overgrown as to be virtually invisible.

The gaping maw in the earth opened up before her at last. Trees and weeds grew right up to the edge, even spilling down the steep sides to give it a strange inverted beard. She peeped over the edge; sure enough, down in the shadowed depths was a pile of rusting automobiles, empty windows staring blankly up at her. Some of the cars looked downright ancient.

Mena carefully inspected the reverend's car, making sure no clues remained. Releasing the emergency brake, she pushed it carefully to the edge. Flashbacks of the recent disposal of her own Mustang flew through her mind, but she heaved steadily until it rolled on it's own momentum. The car slid over the edge like a dead fish, crashed into the pile below with a heavy crunch. Mena sighed, glad to be rid of the useless monstrosity.

She mulled over the present situation as she walked back to the highway. One gorgeous young preacher, not quite food-quality to the monster. A man who could possibly provide hours or days of live entertainment.

When she'd brought the boy Danny back to the Catacombs, she'd only thought to maybe have a laugh, play around with him a bit. Feeling sorry for him, she'd known full well that he might not fare any better by being 'rescued' from the roadhouse. _Which is worse, being burned alive, or having your face bitten off while you come?_ She smirked, remembering. _At least he went off with a bang._

This clean-cut preacher, though, was a whole different thing. The monster was not very interested, which meant he was fair game for her and Aunt Hel. A plaything, an amusing diversion, a dangerous witness. He was all of those, but Mena felt something strange towards Henry. She liked him.

She thought he was slightly deluded in his beliefs, but he also had something about him that made her want to know more, to get close to him, physically and mentally. He had tracked the monster; something in common, though the aim might be different. _I wonder, I wonder... If he could hunt down a monster, maybe he could hunt with us, if only we could turn his focus onto a more suitable prey._

Mena emerged from the dense undergrowth, and stepped onto the crunchy verge of the highway. _It's going to be a while_, she thought, looking both ways along the lonesome pavement. She started walking, whistling to the twilight air while she waited for a car to come by.

x-x-x-x-x

Henry awakened reluctantly, remembering where he was before he'd opened his eyes. The throbbing in his head was now matched by the burning ache of a missing fingertip; half of his right index finger, gone forever.

He was cramped from having lain on the cold concrete for so long, and stretched cautiously. Henry didn't want to attract the Devil's attention again. A soft sound made him freeze, a groan, but it was hard to tell the source. He looked around carefully, saw the horrid shape in front of its worktable. It was standing there, half bent over... heaving.

Henry saw the demon's muscles contract, its lower back tense up. It appeared to be trying to regurgitate. _Good. I hope he chokes. _Henry had a flash of illogical thought, that maybe the monster would vomit up his finger, and doctors might be able to save it. But as he watched the intermittent spasms, he noticed a strange pattern. The slow, convulsive movements were too careful... too measured. Then he saw what was on the table in front of the Devil.

No, the monster wasn't dry heaving. It was copulating, with the woman Helen.

She lay naked on the edge, her braced leg propped up on the monster's shoulder. Henry could see her other foot stroking the beast's thigh, pressing against its buttock. The groans were coming from her, each time the creature pushed into her. A bolt of erotic heat shot through him at the sight, even as grotesque as it was, but it was followed by a cold wave of fear. Henry knew what he was seeing here, he'd heard of it, but never given full creedence to the ancient legends.

The Devil was an incubus.

There before him was that ancient monster, painstakingly clenching its stomach muscles, curling its hips into the woman's body. Henry tried not to watch, tried not to be aroused by the sight. It was too late, though, he was under the Shadow Man's spell. He burned with the knowledge that he shouldn't be seeing this unholy marriage, yet he couldn't manage to look away. With each careful thrust, it was as though his own loins were there, pushing against a warm wet secret. The light skin of the woman's thigh reflected in the kerosene lamp's glow; pale skin encaged by steel straps and bars, pierced by thick pins that drove inward to the bone. The demon opened it's mouth and uncurled a glistening tongue, began licking at the pins and the impaled flesh, clanking its jagged teeth against the torturous metal.

Henry was entranced. Though across the empty room, he clearly heard Helen hiss when the vile creature found a tender spot on her calf. Her reaction to pain quickly melted into a moan as the monster kneaded her leg, stroking and squeezing the back of her knee.

It went against everything natural. The demon was enjoying this perverse act, and so was his victim. Her tender human flesh, which should only be touched by a man, was being caressed and inflamed by this revolting spawn of hell. Henry swallowed hard, trying to keep his thoughts together. If he could somehow stop the demon, he could impede this evil.

Stop the demon, put himself in its place. She would gasp for **_him_**. _No, that's just what it wants, it's tempting me!_

He watched, struggling within; the Shadow Man's horrific wings were unfurling slowly, sweeping down to scrape gouges into the concrete floor. The clawed wingtips flexed and curled in time with the monster's pleasure; slowly opening, then tensing, quaking like leaves in a storm.

The monster's entire body began to shudder deeply, as though it was experiencing an earthquake all its own. A rancid howl broke from the beast's upraised mouth; such a sorrowful sound that Henry blinked for a moment, almost forgetting to hate the incubus.

But it was over. The creature leaned over the woman now; face to face, they nuzzled, they were _kissing_. How could a demon be so ..._affectionate_? The impossibility of what he was seeing fluttered amid the shreds of a deep arousal. He could feel the touch of her swollen lips on his own. Henry wanted to _be_ the demon, just for a moment.

An intense shame crashed into him like a physical blow. This woman didn't attract him, and what the heck was he doing allowing himself to be attracted anyway? Was a vow of chastity so easily forgotten when it came to actual battles with demons? Maybe she really_ was _a witch, consort of a demon. Henry at last looked away, his face burning.

The tears didn't come until the third time, when the incubus rutted with Helen on the floor in front of him, both of them bent over like animals. He covered his face with one hand, wiping the tears away as he desperately fondled himself through his pants.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena stumbled in late, arm slung over the shoulder of her latest victim; a drunk and giddy old man, nearly beside himself that he'd caught such a fine young thing. He had happily given Mena a ride to the old power plant, never caring why she chose such a godforsaken place to lead him.

Not until he looked around him did he begin to question the wisdom of this adventure. There was blood on a long table, puddled in hard black pools on the floor. A man huddled, shaking and weeping, against a wall; he appeared - against all belief - to be chained there, like a prisoner in some medieval dungeon. As it all began to sink in, the old man turned to look for his frisky companion for reassurance, and instead got a punch in the face.

He screamed and held his nose as it began squirting bright blood. Other figures assembled around him, nightmarish faces, mocking his confusion. An older woman, handicapped by an uncomfortable-looking brace, swung her cane at his knees, dropped him easily to the floor. He wailed as his elbows struck hard concrete, but they closed in on him mercilessly. The two women held his struggling limbs while a third person ...not a person, a horror! - knelt over him.

Screams shrilled through the control room as the monster peeled skin from the man, stuffing the long bloody strips into its mouth. He died after half an hour of the creature's attentions, after which the body lay alone, forsaken and naked of skin, until the beast's hunger reduced it to a few moist bones.

x-x-x-x-x

The little preacher was deeply ashamed; it was obvious from his attempts to hide himself. He tried so hard not to look her in the face. Henry hid himself as she walked by, cowering under her condecending chuckle.

She had seen him as he had watched her last night. He'd been deeply affected, seeing her with the monster. The young man obviously was scandalized, thought it was the worst of evils, but she couldn't blame him for his misconceptions. And the monster had been very tender with her, and so attentive, it was no wonder her homecoming had gotten Henry all hot and bothered.

She walked over to him, pointedly made herself comfortable. Helen handed him a canteen of water, and after a few seconds he took it, still unable to meet her gaze. Henry drank, now realizing how terribly thirsty he was. Anger swelled in him; they had degraded him, and obviously meant to continue, all because he strove to rid the world of its darkest evil.

"So he **did** kidnap you... it was true what they said," he spoke bitterly, his head lowered.

She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "He rescued me."

He stared at her, aghast. "He's a monster," Henry sputtered. "A killer, a... a **_devil_**!"

Helen laughed. "All that and so sexy too!"

"Oh my God! ...with that... that... that's disgusting!" Indignant rage rose up in him. "You're a murderer, a cannibal..." Henry spat out.

"You're in no position to be calling _me_ a cannibal." She retorted. "What do you think you had for lunch yesterday?"

He was silent for a moment, his skin turning a sickly green as it sank in. "You, ...you're crazy!" he burst out. Then he looked up, recoiled at the deadly glare in her eyes, but then steadied himself again.

"You people are serial killers! This is no hobby, this is **_murder_**!"

He rose clumsily to his feet, the fury of his rampage giving him strength to fight back, if only in words. "Acting like it's a big game, ...torturing ...killing, ah God! What you're doing is so unspeakable, how can you sleep?" His voice rose to a shout. "This is atrocity against nature! And perversions with that... beast. It's **_evil_**."

He hung his head, trying to shake the images from his mind. Helen stared at him malignantly, face gone deathly still.

"You call **_me_** evil?" she growled. "When you and your kind spend every waking minute deluding yourselves that you are so blameless. At least I'm honest about **_my_** killing," she hissed, pacing back and forth in her growing fury. "This is no game. This is evolution. I loathe your filthy civilization, your self-righteousness, and I will do everything in my abilities to hinder it."

She grabbed Henry's face, squeezing it hard between taut fingers. "What **_you_** do is depraved. Send your own children off to be brainwashed until their minds are ruined, their spirits crushed. Little wonder they grow to a stifled adulthood and suffer nameless frustration in silence for the rest of their lives. And then, because it's the norm, they send their own beloved, cursed children to be crushed in turn." Helen released his face as though it were tainted, and walked away a few steps.

"I don't think I'm better than any other person." she said in a low voice. "I'm just the end result of your hateful cycle. Did you think it could go on forever, without repercussions?"

She humphed, calming. "Now Mena, she's more devoted than I am. That girl is bent on making trouble, and she'll have no mercy." She laughed. "Be sure of it, you are in for a ride."

"I don't know what to do with you." She looked him up and down. "We have more than enough to eat so you're surplus. **_He_** doesn't really want you, and I won't kill you if you're just going to sit around and rot. **_That _**would be evil." Helen paced again, slowly, thinking. "You're going to be here for a while. Try not to be such a downer."

Henry's mouth hung open; he was aghast at the tirade he'd just heard. And to top it off, she was telling him to stop sulking. He held a shaky, bloodstained hand up. "That **_thing_** ate my finger, and you want me to be cheerful?"

Helen shot him a glacial stare. "If you're gonna act like meat, you'd better not bitch about getting eaten."

_End of Chapter 18_

A/N: Was that a tender moment or what, Ami? Heh hehh...

Coming soon: 10 Things I Learned From Reading _The Other Half_ & _The Acolyte_.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: I want to apologize to everyone for the long pause. I was ill and unable to write. However, I never stopped thinking about it, and the show is back on! The following is a **rewrite** of Chapter 19. I never liked how I had written it, and was trying to rewrite it almost immediately after posting it. Then I lost my muse (total writer's block), and I was attempting to write the scene over and over mentally for all that time. So if it seems overwritten, please say so.

**WARNING**: It's all been pretty vanilla so far. That changes now. If you don't have the stomach for kinky stuff, you shouldn't read thi-...oh what the hell am I talking about?! If you're still reading this story, you LOVE kinky stuff!

_**Chapter 19**_

Henry felt unclean. _Polluted._ It was still sinking in, what the woman had told him; he had eaten human flesh. Eaten it and _liked_ it.

He wanted to throw up. With his entire soul he wanted to, but it was too late.

Anger welled up in him, sweeping the nausea away for a moment. He was surrounded by an evil he'd never thought to face - not the everyday evil of venial sins and backsliding - but something hideous and ancient, a living abomination that would require new weapons to fight it. It certainly would require more than the cowardice he'd shown so far.

It wasn't enough that the woman and the Shadow Man had enticed him into abusing himself shamefully in front of them last night. They flaunted their depravity and seemed amused by his weakness. All the inner strength he thought kept temptation away, the oaths he'd sworn in secret, they all crumbled to dust. The evil that had forced him into this wandering penance was revived to torment him again.

Henry was dead to his family and everyone he'd grown up with. He could never return home, never ask forgiveness. All he could do was roam the part of the world he was familiar with, struggling to redeem himself. He even stopped calling himself Henry, asking people to call him by his nickname, Jake. Reverend Jake, after he became a real minister.

And at the sight of Helen luxuriating in the violations of the Devil himself...he had broken his promises.

But even remembering the Beast brought a fresh terror flooding through his heart. Men weren't equipped to fight against monsters from the depths of Hell; what resouces could he possibly draw on now, here, chained in a dungeon? And what if he weren't chained...?

He looked around him, carefully glancing at the woman to make sure she didn't notice his search. The room was littered with ancient camping gear, abandoned clothing torn from victims' bodies, chunks of half-burned firewood, the bucket they'd given him to relieve himself in, and discarded tools. _There_. His heart pounded when the flat shape of a leaf spring caught his attention.

It was protruding halfway from under a sleeping bag, maybe fifteen feet away from him. Close enough to be possible, but still far enough to be just out of reach. Henry tore his eyes from it, superstitious dread that it might disappear drawing his gaze inexorably back. A long piece of metal, his one hope to escape and somehow end this evil. He just had to be patient and wait for the right moment. Sooner or later they would leave him alone again, and he could make his bid for freedom.

x-x-x-x-x

Helen angrily stabbed at her pant's leg with a thick needle. As she sewed straps onto another pair of filleted jeans, she couldn't help hearing the preacher's accusations over and over again in her mind.

_Murderer. _

_Serial killer._

_Pervert._

And the unspoken, but implied - _Witch_. She chuckled, shook her head; that last one merely by its idiocy made the others dim in significance.

The monster was a killer, that was its nature. It killed, it ate, it slept. And she? Helen had no illusions about what she was doing - it was a dreadful thing according to the rest of the world. But she didn't feel evil.

Who was to say that this was an unnatural way to live? Who could say that to kill and eat was so immoral? People killed and ate animals daily, save for a few who considered even that to be wrong. Humans were nothing but animals, however they deluded themselves that they were so much more. The worst she had done was move herself to the top of the food chain... or _almost_ the top.

She had some measure of pity for the people she slew, because she did care for them - like embarrassing family - regardless of their shortcomings, but it was a pity tempered by merciless efficiency. There were too many people for the world, people trained for generations to be helpless and blind, and she was the result. Someone who could cull the herd, make some use out of the excess.

As for the perversions... She smiled. An ideal match was what they had both found, if only for a brief time.

Helen looked over at the preacher, hugging his knees again, dropping off by the look of it. She decided something would have to be done. An enemy in their midst was amusing for a while, but it was a risk, too. Though he wouldn't be able to slay his 'devil', he might be capable of causing more trouble than she wanted. Her time with the monster was so short, she was jealous of any threat.

They would have to break Henry - that was the best way to deal with him.

x-x-x-x-x

_It was night. Everything was dark, but he could see quite well. He floated high up in the air over a patchwork landscape; something that felt like another pair of muscular arms stretched from his shoulders, held him blissfully aloft on warm updrafts. Something bright glimmered below; a human riding in an open convertible. He was attracted to the scintillation like a moth to a flame. _

_Diving, wings folded up against his body, he plummeted towards the source of flesh scent drifting up from the car. At the last moment he veered aside, swooped low across the pavement directly in front of the convertible. The car screeched to a swerving halt, and he circled, savoring the kaleidescope of fear rising up like incense. Ahhh, mmm..._

_Henry was at the woman's house, eating a delicious steak sandwich. It was so savory, so juicy. A two-handed sandwich. It began to squirm in his hands, forcing him to hold onto it tighter, then to dig his nails in. He really didn't want to drop it; it was too good to waste. He brought it back to his face and took a huge bite, sinking his teeth deeply into the sandwich. As he did so it began to utter blood-curdling screams, and squirmed with renewed vigor. The screams and movement provoked him, made him feel good. He tore a bite loose and lowered it from his face. As he did so, he saw that his sandwich was a small man._

_He dropped the man with a cry, and staggered back._

_The man was him._

Henry awoke with a jerk. His chain clanked dully.

All was silent and still; the control room was empty. There was no sign of either the woman Helen, nor the Shadow Man. Earlier, before he had fallen asleep, the girl had disappeared down a passageway on the back side of the control room. Henry didn't know where she'd gone, but all had been quiet for so long now that he figured she must've departed by another exit.

The leaf spring, he had to try for it now. Pulling himself to the furthest reach of the chain around his ankle, he lay stretched on his stomach, reaching out one arm towards the metal bar. He didn't even get close; it was a full three feet farther away than his outstretched fingers. He groaned in frustration, the shackle digging into the soft flesh of his ankle as he tried to extend himself a little more. The bar sat there taunting him, just out of reach.

Henry relaxed, rubbing the cramps out of his shoulder, and scratched his stubbly chin. He looked around for something to help him reach the bar, but his captors had carefully cleared the space of rubbish. All he had was the ratty, bloodstained blanket they had tossed him.

He tried to stay calm and think of what to do next. There was no telling how much time he had before one of them returned, and he didn't want to squander it. This might be his only chance to survive.

The blanket lay wadded up beside him; he hadn't wanted to touch it before, but now an idea was worming its way into his mind. He picked up the musty, torn thing, weighing its possibilities. Maybe, just maybe, it could work.

Henry twisted the blanket loosely, forming a fat rope. He tossed one end over the leaf spring, and began working his end back and forth, trying to wrap the blanket around the exposed metal. It wasn't easy; most of the bar was hidden underneath the sleeping bag, and the blanket kept sliding off. After five tries he managed to move the bar a few inches, and with excitement coursing through his blood he continued to toss the makeshift rope again and again.

After nineteen tries he had shifted the bar back and forth enough to expose most of it, but it was no closer to him. He slumped, nearly in tears. Anger and desperation drove him to keep trying, and he wiped his face with a grimy hand. Four tries later he had gotten the bar completely out from under the sleeping bag, and he cheered inwardly. Folding the twisted blanket in half, he threw the loop over the far end of the spring, then slowly dragged it towards him. The metal grated loudly on the concrete floor, but it was coming!

And then he had it in his hands, the grail, the possibility of escape from this chamber of horrors.

Henry wasted no more precious time, but set to work trying to free himself. He wrapped the chain once around his heavy bar, near to the pipe on the wall, and began twisting. After a couple of turns it stopped, and he braced his body against the bar to lean his weight onto it. The chain didn't even groan, or pop, or give any sign of weakening. He stood and put his foot on the bar, willing his body to be heavier just for a few minutes. Nothing.

He carefully brought his other foot up, stood fully on the leaf spring. It creaked ominously, but the chain didn't give. Just as he was about to start jumping on the spring, it broke with a loud twang, sending him sprawling painfully to the floor.

Tears of frustration and shame welled up, stinging his eyes. The spring must have been cracked, probably that was why it was discarded in the first place. He got to his knees, inspected what was left of his salvation; two pieces of metal, one a few inches long and still tangled in chain, and the other piece about two feet long.

Not much to work with, ...but as a last resort, he could still use it as a weapon.

As he was unwinding the chain from the short broken end, a scuffling sound echoed into the room. He froze, terrified of being caught, of losing his only advantage. The sound came again, closer, but there was no one visible. Finally it became clear as the girl - bent in half - appeared in the passageway, dragging a metal washtub sloshing with water.

She didn't spare him a glance as she dragged it over to the remains of the campfire. The girl came to a rest alarmingly near Henry, but never acknowledged him; in fact, she seemed to have forgotten he was there at all. It was dark enough in the control room that she could easily miss him. He watched from his shadowy corner as she gathered up scraps of wood and started a new fire. Henry wondered why; it wasn't cold in the room.

His question was answered as she pulled a stool over to the tub, and sitting unawares a few feet away from him, began to undress. With wide eyes he watched her unbuckle the straps of the odd leather shirt she wore and remove it, revealing a lacy white bra; he watched half gratefully and half with regret, because she sat with her back mostly to him. The girl, Mena he had heard her called, slowly wiped her arms with a wet rag, lingering as though daydreaming.

She was bathing. It was such a mundane and homely activity in this house of evil, he almost felt relieved.

He saw the girl in a new light as she washed herself by the fire. Young, with the innocence of her childhood still clinging to her like a sweet fragrance, and caught by fate between her murderous aunt and the horror of the Shadow Man. Her skin gleamed like a fresh daisy in the flickering light.

Henry kept still as a statue, not wanting to break the spell, not wanting her to turn and see him holding the broken bar, ...or see him watching her. He could feel heat rising in his face as he stared. Henry tried to stop; though just a few years younger than he, she was still a kid after all...but the girl was so pretty, so delicate, and so vulnerable.

She kneeled beside the tub and lowered her head into it, then began rubbing her dark hair into a lather. He had never watched a woman washing her hair, and it affected him more than he would have thought possible. Wet suds dribbled down her lovely neck as she ran fingers through the mass of soapy hair; he could imagine the suds flowing down between her round breasts, pooling on her belly. Henry swallowed hard, finding it hard to breathe suddenly.

She dunked her head into the tub again, rinsing off the thick lather. He watched, eyes wide and head tilted aside, as she squeezed the excess water from her hair and combed her fingers through it. Henry hoped and feared that she was finished with her bath, but then she unhooked her bra, began lowering the straps.

The pink tip of her nipple was just visible around the soft globe of her breast. His breath stilled in his chest as she raised an arm and began washing her torso. Wet skin gleamed at him in the firelight, beckoning. His mind reeled, yelling at him to look away; blood was rushing to inappropriate parts of his body. He was entranced; as long as she didn't see him, he could see nothing else but her.

The girl stood and began undoing the buttons of her pants. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband, slid them down over her hips. Henry's trousers were painfully tight; he wanted so badly to put his hands on those beautiful, curving hips, slide them down along with her hands. Her body was still spare with adolescence, and as perfect and unmarred as a marble statue.

She lowered her pants over her ass, revealing a bare and glorious view. He had to stifle a groan as she girl ran the washrag over one round cheek, dripping suds down the back of her thigh. She bent to pull the pants over her feet, stayed stooped over to unbuckle the thigh-high tops of her boots. His eyes jumped to her face, visible for a moment around her legs.

The girl was looking straight at him, a sly, knowing glint in her eye.

His blood ran cold. That one brief look had held the same predatory gleam as the wolf on her shoulder - it was a look full of cold, mischievous hunger. She was taunting him... had been all along.

All the fever he'd felt now curdled into rage. That sweet, fresh body, she was using it as a weapon against him. His own flesh betrayed him. Now the girl was flaunting her naked, dripping skin before him, torturing him with it. Delicate? Vulnerable? He had seen her help murder a man, skinning him slowly to death; how could he have forgotten?

He wanted to punch her. It occurred to him to throw the metal bar at her; a brief vision crossed his mind of it striking her face, wiping that teasing look off it, but he didn't want to throw away his only weapon.

Henry's heart leapt as he realized that his chain was at a maximum of slack right now. He could probably reach her. _...a hostage!... _Without further thought, spurred on by panic, Henry darted forward. His shackled foot was snatched back, but he struck his target, easily pinned her up against his chest with the broken-off bar. The triumph of having captured her went straight to his loins, pulsing in time with his crazy heartbeat.

"Unlock me," he demanded. "Get me out of here." She shook her head vehemently.

Henry gasped, breathless, paralyzed. The clean, damp smell of her skin made him dizzy. He was furious at her, he hated her, but he was putty in her hands.

She was melting slowly against his growing heat. He wobbled on his one foot, trying to keep his balance.

Henry's free hand rose, fumbling for her soft skin. He ran a thumb over her firm nipple, caressed her round breast before moving his trembling hand down her belly. Henry had never touched a woman this way before; it made his head swim and his skin tingle. He pulled his hand away as though it had been burned.

"...you evil little bitch." he groaned.

Her laugh was like birdsong. To his horror, she brought both hands up, and tenderly stroked the arm holding the bar. She turned her head, smiled and whispered at him, "You're so cute."

He jumped back, suddenly afraid a trap had closed, but she twirled around and followed close to him. Henry stumbled backwards, tripping over his wadded up blanket. He managed to right himself, yelped and swung the bar up; it connected obliquely, striking the girl's head and shoulder enough to knock her off balance. She fell heavily to the floor, her mouth an 'o' of pain and surprise.

Henry staggered back hunched over, breathing hard. He was fighting back the violence he felt welling up inside, violence which he also felt toward himself, for responding to her seduction.

A piercing whistle startled him. It was the girl; she had brought fingers to her mouth and let loose a long trill. He was dumbfounded for a few seconds, then he noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. Dread quickly overpowered all rational thought.

Crawling out of the shadows high up on the wall, the devil, staring at him with cold neutrality. Its regard was intelligent, malevolent. The monster continued to hold his gaze, then it leapt down and strode to its workbench. Bending, it rifled quickly through a massive wooden box. With a chorus of clanks, the creature held up another set of shackles and chain.

Henry barely had time to register what was happening and stagger back a few steps, before the monster had pounced on him and wrestled him to the floor, pinning his arms together over his head. Its strength was adamant and frightening; in one robust fist it dragged him along the wall to the end of his ankle chain. The hideous creature paused, stooped to sniff him closely. A panicky moan wavered from Henry's open mouth; face to face with the leering horror, he was sure the devil had decided to eat him after all. But the creature only sneered and shackled his wrists, threading the chain through another pipe on the wall.

It wasn't until the devil stood back then, silently as a panther, that Henry - with a dreadful sinking feeling - realized he was being laid out for torture.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena knew the monster was offering her the man to play with, and didn't hesitate at the opportunity. The little preacher looked beautiful, splayed out in chains, glossed with sweat and terror. She felt the first pangs of love pierce her heart. The way he had been mooning, the way he had touched her...she knew for sure now that he wanted her, too. The prospect was piquantly delicious.

She straddled his thighs, hovering over him on her booted knees. His head was already halfway restrained between his outstretched arms, and she took advantage. Mena lunged forward, pressing her lips against his, sliding her tongue to touch his. He shuddered, but his lips parted a little. He was slowly succumbing to his needs like a man drowning in quicksand.

She smiled, nuzzled his fine second-day whiskers. Mena eased herself back, licking her lips. Henry was sweet as honeysuckle.

"You're wearing too many clothes, Henry," she said patiently, as though being naked as a jaybird was the norm. She reveled in the play of emotional struggles that ran across his features. Mena wasn't too surprised to see a surreptitious hope among them. They consolidated into naked fear, though, when she reached down between her legs and came up with a short knife.

_Where did __**that**__ come from?_, was his visible thought; he glanced down to see the answer; she had a sheath just inside the high edge of her boot. The crescent-shaped knife loomed in his vision, and he shrank back, sure she was about to carve him up.

Mena laughed lightly, though still swinging the knife closer towards him. "Don't worry." she said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Much."

She began cutting at one of his cuffs, carefully pulling the razor-sharp knife down his arm, then inward to the center. The circuit from wrist to wrist completed, she put the blade away, and began unbuttoning the remains of his shirt. Mena patiently undid every last one, then with a light flick, disposed of the quartered clothing.

She stood back, admiring, running her hands down his wiry chest, his stomach, petting him slowly. After her fingers brushed around his navel, her hands came to a rest on his belt buckle. His panicky, too-wide stare caught her eye. "Please," he pleaded, sounding like a frightened boy. "_...don't_."

Mena stared him in the eye, her lips curving up. "But I've been waiting a long time for this," she said firmly. And with that, she yanked his belt open, unbuttoned his trousers, and hastily pulled the zipper down. Mena hooked her fingers carefully inside the waistband of his boxers, and pulled them, together with his pants, down to his thighs. Then she did a double take at what she saw. Mena whistled, and couldn't help smiling at the deep blush on his face. "Why, Rev. Henry, you've been hiding your light under a barrel!"

The organ she'd exposed was a thing of beauty and disturbing girth. The best thing about it was, it wasn't completely asleep. As she stared agog, it twitched against Henry's thigh, and flushed a deeper shade of rose.

Mena scooted back, lowered her face to lie next to the wonder in its nest of curly, dark hairs, breathing in the scent and exhaling warm air from her nose onto him. Henry gasped at the sensation.

"Oh Jesus...please...help me!" he moaned in a breathless voice.

Mena sat up. Expressionless, she reared back and slapped him hard across the mouth. "Don't make me gag you," she warned, watching fascinated as the handprint faded from white to crimson. She had no intention of carrying out her threat; his little dismayed sounds of arousal were music to her ears.

A shocked, angry tear rolled away from Henry's eye. Blood welled up where his lip had split open. His fists clenched above the crude manacles as she settled her damp head onto his hip again.

She began humming softly to herself, and touched him with gentle fingertips, caressing his stomach, his belly, his other hip and thigh, everything but the lovely thing in front of her face, which continued to pulse and rise. Henry sobbed once, just a hiccup, then mumbled, "_nnn_..."

Mena smoothed her hands over his skin. "Shhh," she whispered. She trailed her fingers along the hairy inside of his thigh, up the hollow where leg joins torso, savoring the way his body first tensed and shuddered, then melted like warm jelly under her touch.

Her nails scratched lightly through his pubic hair, and she lifted her head to hover over him, her eyes darkening with excitement. She might never get another chance. Even if he survived this time, there was a possibility he wouldn't be willing or able to get it up for her again. This could be...difficult...for the little preacher, and she was trying to soothe him as best she could, but with the monster around, things often got messy in a hurry.

She carefully wrapped one hand around the organ, mavelling that her fingers didn't even meet. Though no longer than any pecker she'd seen, Henry's was almost freakishly thick. _The kind of pecker a woman looks at twice before deciding whether she really wants to take that on_, Mena thought, but she didn't need the second glance. A little smile played at the corners of her mouth. She had a feeling that she and the preacher were made for each other.

Mena lowered her lips to the rosy head emerging from its tight foreskin. Henry's body thrashed violently under her at the first touch, but eventually went still when he was unable to dislodge her. She sucked gently on him, swirling her tongue around, and murmured gratefully when she felt him swell and harden in her hand.

"..._ahh God yes_." It was the barest whisper under his breath, but she caught it. Mena beamed. She was making excellent progress.

She lingered for a moment longer, then crawled further up over him so that one of her breasts dangled over his face. The preacher was breathing heavily and had a hard time focusing.

"Suck," she ordered.

She saw the look in his eye too late. He reached up and bit her breast hard. Mena yelled and tried to jump back, but he was latched on like a pitbull. Without even thinking, she reared back and punched him in the sternum. Henry's mouth flew open in an explosive wheeze, and Mena sat up straight to examine her wound.

A bleeding ring of toothmarks surrounded her entire aureole. It hurt like a motherfucker, but she had to laugh...it was sort of artistic. She looked back at Henry, who was still gasping and heaving, with a dark smile.

"Wanna play rough, huh?"

Mena watched the anger on his face fade to dismay, as the monster reappeared carrying something. It was obvious Henry thought it was another instrument of torture. _Well, it __**is**_ she thought with a hint of malice.

The creature handed her a short wooden rod with crude leather thongs threaded through each end. The surface of the rod was dark and heavily chewed. Her smile broadened, and she lunged at Henry's head, cramming the gag in his jaws. He tried to thrash his head around to loosen her grip, but she quickly pulled the straps to the back, tied them in a snug knot.

She reached out and caressed his lips, now pulled back in a painful grimace, with her fingertips. "Too bad..." she murmured sadly, but the offhand regret on her features shifted into dangerous mirth. "Now, where were we?" Mena scooted back on her knees, lowering her hips so that she sat straddling his cock rather than impaled on it. Slowly, her hands braced on his stomach, she began to rock back and forth, her dark-flushed lips sliding easily across his stiffening organ, denying him the relief of being fully received.

Henry let out a breathy groan, muffled by the scarred gag, and his head arched far back. His whole body was taut and shaking like a racehorse. Mena rode him with her head back and eyes closed, seemingly oblivious to the man under her and his increasingly desperate noises. Face glowing pink, her movements soon became more languorous, her breathing deeper. Below, Henry's hips began to strain upwards into the moist warmth.

He jerked alert suddenly, blue eyes flashing open like half-glimpsed sparks. At first his rolling eyes settled on her face with a sort of stunned, horrified longing, his mouth slack around the wooden gag. Then his wild-eyed stare roved haphazardly around, looking for the source of his distress. It was apparent that he was still worried about the monster, and with good reason.

The monster had approached and was standing over the girl, sniffing the air like an animal. Beneath drooping eyelids, its eyes had rolled back in its head. The creature's swollen erection jutted out like a horn, dripping thin strands of clear, slimy fluid. Mena, face flushed and loose from her exertions, didn't notice. The monster's eyes opened, focused first on her, then Henry, then the girl again.

It crashed to its knees behind her, grabbed her hips and yanked them up. The creature slid its stiff, grey organ against her glistening folds, stroking her as she had done to Henry. Its head rolled as it hissed and snarled, quickly losing patience. The dark beast wasted no more time, but buried itself deeply inside her with a grunt and the sound of a fist sinking into soft fruit.

Mena huffed out a startled, bestial cry. "hHanhhh!"

x-x-x-x-x

With mesmerized dread, Henry watched the act taking place over him; mortified and absolutely fascinated. Beneath Mena's wide-spead legs, almost touching the dark kewpie-doll curl of her bush, was his own sodden cock, straining and painfully hard. The sensation of damp heat radiating down was impossible to ignore, as were the _sounds_. The ends of his gag began to shine with saliva.

The monster raised one hand to her throat, guided her neck back to its face, where it inhaled as vigorously as it fucked her. While Henry watched, the creature tilted its head, stuck out its glistening tongue, and licked the back of Mena's neck, opening its eyes to stare straight at him. The look was greedy and chilling.

The creature's other hand roved up to grab a breast, rub it roughly, then drag sharp, ragged fingernails across it and down her stomach. Mena's back arched, her mouth wide open as she snarled. Tiny red beads formed in the parallel scratches. This stole the monster's attention for a moment; its pace faltered as it became engrossed in the perfume of fresh blood. The monster licked its lips, then blinked and frowned, pushed Mena hastily away from its face. It wobbled unsteadily, reached down between Henry's knees, yanked and ripped at the man's pants to get into a better position. The onslaught was hastily resumed as the beast clutched the girl by the hips.

She sank down to grasp Henry's wrists in her own outstretched hands, her face swaying directly over his. Mena's bloodstreaked nipple painted red hieroglyphs on his chest. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be mouthing a word very softly, every few breaths. Paralyzing shock hit him as it registered.

"..._Henry_...

..._Henry_..."

The pace of the dark creature's already hectic pounding picked up abruptly, became savage, as its sharp nails dug in. Its lips pulled back as it howled, baring its mouthful of long teeth. Bare seconds later, Mena's body went rigid and her mouth opened to croak an ecstatic wail. The young reverend, with envy and shocking delight, witnessed a wash of raw pleasure course through Mena's half-open eyes; they were locked onto his.

But not _just_ pleasure.

x-x-x-x-x

Still breathing shakily, Mena's head swam, her heart slammed in its ribcage. She gazed at the man inches below, chained down and as aroused as you could ask for. His cheeks were red, his eyes dilated, his body straining and sweating under her. _You __**can**__ have your cake and eat it, too_, she thought, sitting up.

The monster pulled out of her with a moist plop, pausing to stroke between her swollen labia again, and reached around to smear its hand through the scant blood drying on Mena's belly. It put the hand to its face, inhaling luxuriantly, then licked some of the blood away.

Mena twisted around, put a hand on the creature's chest, and pushed. "Ok, so scram now." The monster just looked at her, blinked. She scowled, dropped her voice to a faint whisper. "_He'll never come with __**you**__ around_..."

The monster leered at her serious expression. It backed away from her, disappeared into the shadows nearby.

Just as she started to turn and face Henry again, his knee slammed into her armpit. Mena yelped and threw her arm around his thigh, trying to retrieve her balance, but he had momentum and toppled her.

x-x-x-x-x

The second she hit the floor, Henry rolled over her, twisting his tight-stretched chains, grinding skin off his knees and elbows in the struggle to weigh her down. Henry wasn't very big, but he was still bigger than her, and she was pinned.

He had only one thing on his mind: _Hurt the girl._

The hellish sex acts performed on and over him had burned through the fraying strands of his probity. At first he had hoped for a miracle to save him, then he had hoped for strength. When that failed too, he hoped there would be justice, someday.

Now only abject hate and desire remained, eating like acid through his brain and down to his aching prick. If Henry had any sense left, he would have remembered that Mena had his death within easy reach, but his judgement had taken french leave.

x-x-x-x-x

Mena was surprised, but not greatly. Once the abashment at having been dumped over so easily wore off, it exposed her feverish delight. Smiling up at him from between his enclosing elbows, she kissed his stretched lips, infuriating him even more. But he could do nothing to stop it; he couldn't even bite her. In his witless rage he was doing the one thing, the only thing left to him; physical violence.

He had been prodding clumsily between her legs ever since he got her pinned down. Mena was just reaching to help him, when he fumbled into a slick, yielding place and shoved urgently. Henry leaned hard into her before her body finally adapted to his size.

Mena wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him like an octopus embracing its prey. Face contorted at the shock of his size, she grabbed his ass, relishing the tense muscles moving under his skin. Chained arms stretched to their tightest over his head, he dug his bloody knees into the concrete, scrabbling for better control.

Henry forced his way into her with crude, bruising thrusts, trying to beat her into submission from within. He was graceless and brutal, as though appeasing a purely carnal hunger, but Mena knew, could see it in his crazy-dark, blue eyes, that it was not just carnal. It was a limbic need to take some of his lost pride back from her.

Foam collected at the corners of Henry's mouth as he struggled to fill his lungs. Though he wouldn't look into her face, she saw his eyes grow liquid. Then he closed them tightly and two large, hot teardrops splashed onto Mena's neck. He thrashed against her like someone in the throes of a grand mal seizure. She was alarmed for a moment, wondering if he _was_ having a seizure, then shrugged inwardly. _At least he's already got a stick in his mouth_.

The monster crept up over them like an oily grey fog. It hovered on its knees, legs spread wide over the bare ass plunging between Mena's thighs. By the time she saw the ravenous look in its eyes, it was too late to do anything.

It landed heavily against Henry and slid its lumpy cock, still slick from Mena and still hard, between the man's lean buttocks. Henry cried out wordlessly, tried to twist away; the monster held him down with one outstretched hand, knocking Mena's legs out of the way and crushing the man's belly against hers. The only direction Henry could move was deeper into her, but when he was sunk to the hilt the monster didn't stop, kept pushing relentlessly as it began invading him.

Henry shrieked and struggled as the creature opened him up one excruciating inch at a time.

The monster growled, grabbed Henry's waist with its free hand. It curled its fingers into the man's soft flesh, just digging in enough to make its threat clear; it wouldn't hesitate to inflict a slow, agonizing death, pulling his intestines out loop by pearly loop. Henry stopped flailing, his entire body rigid and quaking, his face paralyzed in outrage. The monster leaned heavily against him, sliding further in until it was fully sheathed. Three groins were smashed together in a sweaty cluster.

Mena wasn't entirely sure that Henry was still conscious. She couldn't see his face; he had slumped limp atop her, his tousled black hair tickling her neck. His breathing was shallow and ragged. Then the monster pulled back, dragging Henry's ass with it. Mena heard his gasp, felt his cock jump inside her, and she knew he was conscious and feeling every infuriated nerve.

The creature adjusted its kneeling stance closer and began to plunder Henry. Like the slow bellows of a furnace, with each thrust it pushed the man fully into Mena, and pulled him halfway out of her when it withdrew. She felt the movements from both their bodies straining within her, and felt both resentment and a wicked delight that the monster was using Henry as a sex toy, vicariously fucking her through the man. After a couple of strokes Henry groaned aloud, once more heaving frantically against her, into her, a funhouse mirror of the fucking he was getting from behind.

Crouching down over his sweat-sheened back, the monster stuck its nose into Henry's hair, inhaling eagerly. It seemed to like what it smelled, as its pace quickened. The creature grabbed a handful of the man's locks and pulled him closer, growling, nose still buried in his scalp, occasionally twisting to lick his neck. Henry's arms and shoulders were stretched to the limit from the chains, his hands clenching at air.

"Don'...don't eat him!" Mena yelled breathlessly.

It would have been merciful to see delirium in his eyes, but as she gazed up into Henry's agonized face, she saw in his expression the horror of full awareness. The monster was sawing in and out of his ass savagely, and the man breathed as though running for his life, chest filling and purging in harsh, creaky gasps. The exhales became mewling groans from around the gag as his balls tightened and started the cascade of pleasure.

Then Henry's deeply flushed face contorted in strangled screams. A bloody tear streamed down his face; the result of a burst capillary in his eye. Snot ran from his nostrils as he howled around the gag. Mena felt the cock inside her pulse spasmodically as the dam broke.

Suddenly she was very slick, and the sensation of the monster's erratic thrusts into Henry took her breath away, left her convulsing in a mute frenzy.

The monster crashed down on top of them, Henry's head grasped in its hands, sniffing luxuriantly, almost snorting. The reverend's screams had dwindled to choking creaks; he couldn't draw breath with the creature lying over him. Neither could Mena, who raised a leg and aimed a swift kick at the monster, just enough to knock it off balance.

The creature rolled to the side with the semi-conscious man still in his firm grip, above and below. It paid no heed as Mena crawled away and sprawled flat again, but took several long, studious sniffs, paused with its eyes narrowed introspectively, then tossed Henry aside with a disgruntled huff.

The three of them lay asunder on the cold floor.

Mena turned to make sure the chained man wasn't choking to death. He was stretched out on his stomach, taking deep, gulping breaths. She could see one of his eyes shimmering at her over his arm. The monster reached out, ran a fingertip down Henry's back; the man jumped as though he'd grabbed a hot wire. He jerked and wailed incoherently through the gag. Mena bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud; the monster just stuck the finger in its mouth and sucked it with suspicion.

She pulled herself up and limped over to the monster's workbench, retrieved the keys. The shackle on his ankle was first; it dawned on Henry that he was being released as she started unlocking his wrists. He drew his bloody knees up, huddling at her feet. Mena stroked his dark hair.

"Shhhh," she said. "It's over now. You made it."

He slowly raised his head to look at her; one eye bloodshot. It was a deer-in-the-headlights stare.

"I went off screaming once, too," she continued in a conspiratorial tone. "Did me no end of good."

_**End of Chapter 19**_

A/N: Some people may be upset about my violence to Rev. Henry, but I really do like him! This is what I had in mind from the beginning, and I stopped being able to hear my muse when I wrote the original chapter 19. I did struggle with what happens to him, but I just couldn't lighten it up without losing it. Don't worry, I'm going to keep this as het as possible; slash just isn't my thing.

Just as my main characters (Helen, the Monster, Mena) are all ambiguously _pro_tagonists, being villainous murderers an' all, so is Henry ambiguously an _ant_agonist. (and that's not _all_ he's ambiguous abou...SORRY! sorry! I'm being bad.) I'm just exploring shifts of perception.

Music: 'The Beast In Me' - Nick Lowe

Some of you may wonder what I am afraid of, since I think horrible monsters are sexy. I am afraid of people.


	20. Chapter 20

**WARNING:** Explicit smut, violence, angst, and bad manners.

_Chapter 20_

Henry crouched at Mena's feet, naked except for shoes and the rags clinging to his ankles. His mind was paralyzed like a trapped rabbit. His body hurt in places he didn't want to think about.

A distant clanking noise added to his confusion. As he wondered whether it was real, the noise stopped.

Now, strolling towards him out of the shadows; the woman, the architect of this nightmare. Her usually stiff and pained gait was smooth. She carried the cane, ghastly in the firelight, over one shoulder; in her other hand a shiny black case.

As she neared the light of the campfire, which the monster was feeding back to life, Henry saw that the woman was flushed; she was smiling broadly and her eyes shone. Her whole demeanor had altered drastically from their last confrontation. Dread flooded him; it was like being approached by a tiger that has just fed...but not so much that it would turn down a second helping.

"It's amazing what a little evening out can do." She set the case down; rising, patted her leg brace. _Clink, clink._ "Haven't even had to use this," the woman held her elegant cane out in front of her. "...yet." She freed the blade with an ominous slithering ring. Firelight reflected from the metal; for a moment Henry saw a sword of hellish flame.

The woman handed her empty cane to Mena. The naked girl took it, and winked at Henry. She was smiling, dimples forming on her cheeks. Mena reached down and patted him - none too gently - on the cheek, then she stepped back. Henry realized what was going on when she made an 'all yours' gesture. His moan dried up in his throat and his heart raced violently. He saw the Devil slinking around into his blind spot; at the same moment Helen raised the sword to strike a blow.

A voice rose to a banshee wail in his mind. _She's going to chop you up and then the Devil will eat you, damned soul and all!_

A surge of adrenaline, and his body reacted with a nimble speed previously unhinted at, darting towards his only means of immediate escape; the tunnel passageway from which the girl had come earlier. He had no idea whether it was an exit or not, there was no time for thinking anymore...only survival. The passageway was his one hope, and he dove into it at full speed, ricocheting off the walls.

It was pitch dark, but there could be no turning back. Scuffling, scraping sounds, then a deep snarl echoed towards him from behind... the monster had followed him.

Henry screamed, a keening, breathless shriek.

o o o o o

Henry disappeared into the darkness in a heartbeat, Helen and the monster pounding after him. The echoes of their flight faded quickly to silence. Mena was alone in the control room.

The girl gingerly washed her tender privates, then slipped back into her clothes. She winced as the leather brushed her scraped and bruised back, and pulled it carefully over the scratches on her chest. As she was buckling the shirt, the monster and Aunt Hel came sauntered leisurely out of the tunnels, side by side.

Mena smiled. _All part of the plan. He just needs time to think things over._ She had high hopes for the man.

Helen sheathed her blade, pulled up a campstool and the black case, and drank deeply from a canteen. Mena stood, arms raised to show off her new outfit; the leathers she had completed that afternoon. "How do you like my new ink?" A nice tattoo graced each breast of her sleeveless shirt: 'Daisy Duke M.C.' on one side, and a large Chinese dragon on the other. The leathers were stained a mottled dun color, stitched neatly for the most part, but crudely lashed in big Frankenstein stitches at odd intervals.

Her hunting livery, all straps and buckles to be tight-fitted; the effect was very Mad Max. Helen studied her niece up and down, impressed.

"You're really dressed to kill, aren't you?" Helen chuckled. Mena made a face.

Her aunt went on, shaking her head. "You'll never pass for civilized, with clothes like that." She paused, squinting through one eye. "Though... it's not the clothes, really. It's that freaky look in your eyes." Helen put a finger up _- Wait -_ and stepped over to the office stash. She emerged moments later, put a pair of sunglasses on Mena's face. "There, now you'll pass."

They settled near the campfire again. Mena took the shades off, stirred the coals with a long crowbar, while her aunt washed her hands in the bathwater.

The monster paused before the washtub of warm, soap-murky water, threw a laughing wink at her. "Like you," it grumbled, tilting its bony head. "She likes...bath."

"Well, everybody likes to get clean," Helen retorted, pouring some water onto the back of her hand where a smudge of blood had dried.

Then she paused, thinking, turned to peer at the creature. "Except _you_. I've never even seen you wash off." She glanced at Mena, who was shaking her head, shrugging. A thought occurred to both of them at the same time.

"How _do_ you get all the blood an' shit off?" the girl asked.

The monster looked at them as though the answer were obvious, then demonstrated.

The frenzied scratching lasted only a few seconds, but didn't miss a single place on its scaly body. Sharp, ragged claws peeled at the rough skin. The dark creature began at its head, scratching furiously like a dog that has been set upon by fire ants; then it continued without a pause to rasp and gouge its way down. Both women cried out aghast when the beast scraped ungently at its phallus, but the monster kept going, debriding its legs and feet; then it was over. A hazy cloud of dust drifted around the creature's form, the remains of a layer of hide.

The monster smiled, savage and pleased. "Clean," it said. Its fresh skin looked just as ancient and tough.

"Ho-ly shit." Mena's eyes bugged out.

"Yeah, that's pretty disturbing," Helen snickered. "Think I'll stick with the bath."

She paused, a puckish smile growing, and threw a sly glance at the monster. "There's a surprise up top for you. See if anything is appetizing..." Reaching into her coat, Helen pulled out a thin leather case, opened it and lifted out a glinting scalpel; the blade and her eyes mirrored firelight. "I'll take care of the rest."

The monster, curious, stalked up the metal stairway. Mena looked at the scalpel her aunt was returning to its pocket, and then at the black doctor's bag. Stretching a leg out, nudged the case with the toe of her boot. A barely audible clink of tiny glass objects. "Aunt Hel...?" The girl lifted an eyebrow, smiling uncertainly. "What did you do?" She hesitated, thinking. "Let me guess, you robbed...an ambulance...?"

"Close." Helen chuckled. "I knocked over a drugstore."

Mena gaped.

Her aunt went on. "With a garbage truck."

o o o

"All I wanted was a refill," she began.

o o o o o

Helen pushed open the glass door. A robotic chime dinged in the back. She clomped slowly up the main aisle, her stride more awkward than usual.

The physical therapist at the hospital had instructed her about the hardware, how to adjust it morning and night. Screws in the vertical supports had to be given a quarter-turn with an allen wrench, putting tension on the pins imbedded in her body, to keep the new bone tissue growing properly. The fresh ache each time she made the adjustment was akin to the pain of orthodonture when the wires have been tightened, forcing the jawbone into a new shape. Her surgical incisions burned and screamed, reminding her that she'd only recently been sliced up.

The pain medication and antibiotics she'd been given at the hospital had run out. After a day and night of growing agony, Helen finally had to admit defeat. She returned to the city for a refill.

Nearing the pharmacy counter along the back, Helen couldn't help notice the cold, suspicious glare of the white-coat behind the counter. The top of another pharmacist's head was visible, moving among the racks of drugs, busy filling an order. The one at the counter just watched her approach, his arms crossed.

She stared back at him, saw in his face, in his defensive posture, that he disliked her. He was either unable or rudely unwilling to hide his contempt. _What fresh, stinking hell is this?_ read his face. The pharmacist stared at her handstitched jeans, her often-ripped and patched shirt. Only a junkie would wear clothes like that, he thought. _That femoral brace probably isn't even real. Why do I have to put up with these freaks and cons?_ Venom oozed from his narrowed eyes. _Scum._

A flash of anger, but Helen was long accustomed to this kind of treatment, and ignored it.

She reached the counter, propped her cane aside to fish in her pockets. Fingers closed on the empty bottles, and she set them on the counter, along with her ID.

The pharmacist didn't even glance down, kept eyeing her with sour distaste. "May I help you?" he spoke, but his tone said, "Fuck off."

Helen looked pointedly down at the bottles, back up at the man. "I need a refill, please."

Still the pharmacist glared at her. Helen just blinked and raised an eyebrow.

He picked up the bottles and her ID, inspected them closely. Unfortunately, they _had_ come from this drugstore, were valid for refills, and appeared to be prescribed to the person standing before him. His tight-pressed lips twisted in displeasure, and he gave her another nasty glance, retreating to his computer terminal to check the doctor's notes.

The man shortly returned, a snide triumph all over his face as he nodded faintly, looking down his nose at her. He pointedly kept hold of the bottles and ID, as well as a printout.

"Missus 'Murdoch', or whatever your name is, now would be the time to turn around and leave."

Helen's mouth dropped open. "...What did you say to me?"

The man held the printout before him. "According to the database, these prescriptions were all cancelled three days ago, by a doctor..." he squinted at the paper for effect, "a Dr. Allen. She instructed that they not be reinstated by any other physicians without her written approval." He sniffed at her. "Also, the hospital reported you as missing, under...ahem - _unusual_ circumstances."

Helen laughed, shaking her head. _That bitch. Even from the grave she has to fuck me in the ass. I wish she were alive so I could kill her myself._

"_If_ you still want to pursue this," he continued, "I suggest you contact your doctor and the hospital, have them straighten it out. In the meantime..." he looked her up and down with open scorn, "you are unwelcome in this store. Go try to scam someone else."

"Unbelievable..." she muttered, not willing to tell him her doctor was dead. That would only make things worse. The only option left was to go to the hospital in person, prove to them that she was alive and well. Helen held out her hand. "My things..."

The pharmacist sucked his teeth, then shook his head. "No, I think not." As Helen croaked her disbelief, he went on. "I believe the police will be interested in these." The man opened a drawer under the counter, dropped her ID and empty bottles in.

She stabbed him with poisonous eyes, nostrils flaring. "I want to speak to the other one, _now_." She nodded at the rows of shelves.

"Mmm-hm," he muttered, locking the drawer. "Roger! Could I _interrupt_ you, please?" the man called, never taking his eyes off Helen.

From a far aisle came the second pharmacist. A smaller man with glasses, just starting to go bald, he looked mild and friendly. Reasonable, she hoped.

"This man refuses to give me either my prescriptions or my property."

'Roger' was led by the elbow to the computer terminal, where the pompous asshole pointed out the notes and gave his conclusions. Helen overheard the situation being related, the jerk wasn't making any effort to be quiet. "...possible impersonation...controlled substance...making trouble, refusing to leave...she's probably a junkie..." They conferred in low voices, returned to the counter before Helen. There was a smug look on the asshole's face as Roger did his best 'console the customer' routine.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but it's policy," said the man. He held his hands up - _what can I do?_

Helen choked briefly.

Roger continued in an appeasing tone, "Under questionable circumstances such as these, a pharmacist on duty may confiscate suspicious items until the matter has been resolved."

"It's policy to steal from your customers?" she fumed, eyes wide with fury. Struggling not to shout at the smaller man. "You're _defending_ him?"

He just shook his head, looking superficially helpless. "I'm sorry ma'am, it's policy."

The first pharmacist, staring snidely at Helen, picked up the phone and dialed; after a pause, "Police, please. ...No, it's not an emergency."

Her mouth hung open in disbelief. "You..._bastard_," she spat, then turned and stalked out, her cane striking the floor with loud cracks at each step.

Three hours later, Helen sat in the driver's seat of a garbage truck parked near the drugstore. She was ready.

She had watched from a couple of blocks away for the first hour, but no police ever arrived; the man had been bluffing. Grinding her teeth in combined rage and physical torment, anger focused her thoughts. _I came here for my refills, and I'm not leaving without them._

It took little time to find a vehicle sturdy enough for the task. Getting up into it wasn't easy, nor was working the brake, with her throbbing leg. Helen drove the garbage truck to a vacant lot and practiced until she could operate the controls more easily. For what she planned, there would be no time to waste fucking around.

Out of curiosity, she lowered the disposal gate on the back. Peering into the reeking maw, she saw piles of the usual rotting detrius a city produces, in neat, sanitary plastic bags. Helen was just about to close it back up, when a sleeve protruding from an open bag got her attention. She used the hook on her cane to pull it out, then shook it free of the bag.

An old coat, somewhat worn and badly stained. Dark leather, rubbed pale in places, with wide cuffs - it looked antique. She tried it on, was pleased that it fit well. The coat came to her knees, and had slit square tails for easy movement. It was ridiculously out of fashion, seemed almost like a costume. "Perfect," she muttered, closing the gate.

Watching the drugstore from the high cab, she waited with all the patience she could muster. It grew dark, and when the last customer left, Helen started the rumbling motor. She lowered the huge forks and pulled into the road. When the truck was opposite the little building, she yanked hard on the wheel and gunned the engine. It roared as she picked up speed, barreled straight at the drugstore.

The front crumbled with a squealing crash, and she drove right through, knocking over shelves of vitamins and hemorrhoid cream, plowing her way to the pharmacy counter. She slammed on the brakes just as she struck it, crushing the counter; then Helen raised the forks, lifting the mangled remains out of the way.

Alarms were blaring as dust swirled and settled. She quickly unbuckled and slid down from the cab, using the cane to ease her landing on the rubble-strewn floor.

Almost under the door, she saw a pair of legs sticking out from under the idling truck, half-buried under shattered formica. The woman grabbed a foot and hauled. It was the asshole, quite dead, run over by the front wheels. He had obviously hidden under the counter at the sight of an attacking garbage truck. She shook her head, scowling, picked her prescription bottles and ID from a broken drawer. Helen went to look for the other man.

Stepping over the rubble, she walked briskly past the rows of prescription drugs, searching. Huddled near the back of the last one, the other pharmacist, Roger. Helen approached and nudged him with her foot. "What's your policy on disgruntled customers?" He made a strangled sound, cringed. Flipping her cane, she hooked him in the nostril with the recurved claw, pulled him to his feet.

He wailed, eyes rolling in terror, but had the presense of mind not to struggle.

She held him close to her face. "Refills. _Quickly_," she said firmly over the alarms, then shoved her empty pill bottles at him.

He tried to nod, winced. She released him and followed him closely. Within seconds he found the prescriptions, and grabbed a counting tray. Helen knocked it out of his hand. "Just fill the bottles." The man's hands were shaking badly as he obeyed; a few spilled capsules plinked to the floor.

Helen glanced around as he hurried; her eye caught on a large black doctor's bag, open on the pharmacy bench. Stepping over to it, she peered inside. It was neatly crammed full of bottles, vials, and boxes. A long printed list lay beside the case; an order being filled. She scanned it with growing interest. "_Percodan...Demerol...amtyl nitrate...Seconal...Vicodin...morphine sulphate...Oxycontin...Dilaudid..._" Helen scooped up the large bag and brought it over to the pharmacist, who was screwing the lid down on her bottles. She held the open case out. "Thrown 'em in here."

"I can't..., you can't take..." he cried, staring horrified at the full bag. "I'll lose my job..."

"That's not what you should be worried about losing, Roger."

He hesitated, but then saw the look on her face, dropped the two bottles in without another word. The first time this drugstore had been robbed, and this woman didn't even have a gun, or a knife, or anything, but she was terrifying all the same.

Helen grabbed his arm, pulled him back to the truck. "Gimme a hand..." she said, pointing at the crushed body. "Get him up in the cab." Roger looked green, but stooped to grip his coworker under the arms, obviously repulsed by the blood seeping from the dead man's lab coat. She ordered him to climb up, and together they hauled the broken body into the truck.

Pulling herself in last, Helen slammed the door shut. She shifted gears, backed the garbage truck out of the drugstore; strident warning beeps competed with the alarm sirens. The bulky truck rolled into the street and cruised nonchalantly away.

The pharmacist sat in the passenger seat, his dead partner crumpled awkwardly on the floorboards. He tried to find the handle, hoping to yank it and make his escape, but after groping around, realized it had been smashed off. The comprehension that he was being taken hostage finally hit, but...a hostage corpse?

"Wha-...why did you bring _him_?" he asked in a tremulous voice.

Helen looked over at him, one side of her mouth lifting to show teeth. "Waste not, want not." The man just blinked at her, mouth hanging open.

At the first stop light, she retracted the forks, grabbed the black case and set it on her lap. _Here's where an intimate knowledge of books comes in handy. A 'Gladstone' bag_, she remembered from old murder mysteries. The first bottle she pulled out read '_Tylenol-3_'; _codeine_, an easy one from the Physician's Desk Reference. She tossed it back in, grabbed another. Helen made a crowing sound when she read the label. "Ever tried Special K, Roger?"

He tried for indignant, but was far too frightened, just shook his head rapidly.

"Me neither," she said, and tossed the bottle onto his lap as the light turned green. "Take five."

He stared at it, fumbled the bottle open and shook pills out. "I... I...," he stammered. At her glare he spoke quickly. "I don't have anything to swallow them with." Helen reached into her coat pocket. The man hastily crammed the pills in his mouth, thinking she was reaching for a weapon, but she pulled out her flask and slammed it against his chest. He sipped, coughed and choked, finally got the pills down. She took the flask back and swallowed her painkillers.

"Have a nice trip, Roger," she laughed as they sped into the night.

o o o o o

The monster came clomping back downstairs, a lab-coated figure under each arm. One dangled limp, dragging on the floor; the other struggled and moaned, utterly disoriented. A brief sniff at the dead man, and the creature brought him over to the women, dropped the body beside them. Even as it let go, the monster was becoming interested in the live one, savoring some elusive aroma.

The pharmacist giggled when the beast sniffed at his midsection; his head rolled and he stared at the ceiling, as if seeing stars. The man's arms reached out to clutch at empty air, then he mumbled, "Don't go..."

Mena's head tilted; she looked aside at her aunt. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's hallucinating," Helen snickered. "I gave him ketamine." She patted the black bag. "This thing was full of all _kinds_ of surprises."

Unable to home in on the smell, the creature straightened, gripped the man by his upstretched arm. Shaking him like a rag doll seemed to sober him up enough to see what was in his face; the monster gave a gutteral snarl as its head unfurled like a freakish alien blossom.

Helen noticed Mena turn away with a shiver, affected.

The man responded with a hearty gasp, followed by a piercing scream. The creature dangled the man before its face, inhaled deeply again, seemed pleased. As the dark beast dragged its meal away, the pharmacist saw Helen and Mena. He reached out, his jaw working in a panic. "Help! Help me!! _Help meeee!!_"

"Sorry, Roger." Slicing into the pile of bloody clothing at her feet, Helen carved a thick muscular slab from the crushed body. "It's policy."

The man's noisy cries became earsplitting, were silenced abruptly when the monster plunged a wide blade into his solar plexus, pinning his spine to the edge of the table. Jerking the knife back and forth, the creature opened a gaping fissure; it reached in and felt around. Some dark glistening organ emerged, slowly snapping free of viscera, and was crammed into the monster's jaws.

While their friend noisily continued its feast, Helen dissected the broken pharmacist, asked her niece to set up a grille over the hot coals. All the unwanted entrails, she tossed in a bucket; offal was given to the crows. Helen saved the bones. The monster never threw bones away, though he only used a tiny fraction for carving. Finally she rinsed her scalpel in the washtub and stowed it, then rummaged in the doctor's bag. Came up with a large jar - 'Selmon Brother's BBQ Sauce' - and smiled at Mena. "We're going to have a little party."

They laid dark pink strips on the grille, dribbled thick sauce over the sizzling meat as it slowly cooked. Finished with its meal, the monster came over to investigate the curious ritual. It watched with an expression of growing distaste while they elaborately ruined their meat. When Mena sampled a sticky morsel, the dark creature looked at her and shook its head, made a face. _How can you **eat** that?_

"Hey, it's fucking delicious, so bite me."

The monster perked up instantly, before Mena shouted, "No, no! It's just an expression!" The creature huffed and retrieved some tools from its workbench. Shaking its bony head, the beast left to tinker with the garbage truck.

"You know, I never imagined I'd say this," said Mena, "but asshole tastes just like chicken."

The control room resounded with laughter.

o o o o o

Henry had no idea from which direction he was being followed, or even if he was anymore. Sound came from everywhere, especially since he was hyperventilating. His panic was complete, and he sobbed loudly, crashed into another wall, slowly sank to the gritty floor. Crusty scabs on his scraped knees split open, unnoticed. This was nothing but another prison.

He had run until no sounds pursued him, and then kept running, hoping to erase what had happened by getting far away. The further he had blundered through the suffocating darkness, the more he felt an irrevocable judgement had been cast. He was damned, had always been damned.

They hadn't brought him here to corrupt him. They had simply recognised the evil already within. Now his wicked core had sprung to sudden, gruesome life. Henry had been chased into a hellish industrial labyrinth to be the Devil's own pet monster.

He couldn't stop seeing her in his mind. All he could think about was being inside the girl, finally controlling her, how powerful it had made him feel, and yet a complete slave of his own tortured instincts. How he had reacted with animal panic when the devil sodomized him, ...how he had vented his horrified pleasure into her.

Henry could barely grasp what had been done to him...or what he had done. In the moments before he had fled into the tunnel, he'd seen the smears of blood on his organ of sin. _Momma said I'd hurt some girl with it one day if I wasn't careful. I must've torn her all up inside. **I** did that..._

Despite her cruelty, her teasing, and his violent reaction, he found himself still wanting her.

It gave him a little comfort to desire her...after what the Devil had done, had made him feel. Henry was stricken. The beast had known his awful secret. Compared to the devil, Mena was both his downfall and his salvation.

Curled up tight and shivering, he tried to sleep. Instead, relentless memories scourged him.

o o o

Henry and his cousin climbed into the sweet-smelling oven of the hayloft, flushing a swallow. Any other time, the heat would be stifling, but with their teenage bodies chilled by an afternoon swim in the cold creek, the dry heat was heaven. They soaked it in, damp jeans and shirts tossed aside. John Lee sprawled like a young rustic god in narrow beams of sunlight; strong and sun-brown.

They had grown up like brothers, though Henry couldn't even remember exactly how they were related. Many branches of the family lived around the farm, isolating themselves against the evils of the world. Most of them were as austere in affection as they were in lifestyle; not exactly cold, but withdrawn and solemn. John Lee was the eternal summer of Henry's world, always laughing, always shining. Henry smiled as he drowsed in the shadowy warmth. There was no place in the world he'd rather be than here, with his friend, his hero.

"Henry."

He opened his eyes, had dozed off in the heat haze. John Lee was crouched close by, his beseeching eyes unguarded, earnest. "Please." He reached toward Henry's midsection, but didn't touch. "Please...," he repeated. Henry looked down, already knowing, as John Lee softly touched his thigh. Then moved to the part of him that was swollen and hard.

He couldn't say 'no' or 'stop'. All his life, he had never been able to refuse his cousin. Nothing John Lee did could be all that wrong. And strange as this was, Henry didn't want to refuse. It felt good; it felt right.

It wasn't real, couldn't possibly be. The sparkles of hay dust drifting in a golden shaft from a knothole in the ceiling. The dreamy heat. Cicadas buzzing a hypnotic chorus. John Lee's head moving in his lap. Henry's shaking fingers twined in his cousin's sunstreaked hair.

A choking, creaking sound from nearby. As his head snapped up, Henry saw Uncle Raymond finish climbing up the ladder; the man cocked a shotgun. Henry's blood ran with ice; everything had turned from best to worst in an instant. He hastily covered himself as John Lee rolled away and scrambled to his feet.

John Lee's father stared at his son as though seeing a ghost, then seemed to scarcely notice him. The enraged man turned to Henry and sputtered, choking on his fury. "You...you wicked, _perverted_ boy...you _SNAKE!_" he screamed, taking aim.

John Lee leapt at the man. He grabbed the barrel and yanked up as his father pulled back. Neither expected the deafening blast, and John Lee twirled in a clumsy half-dance before he ran out of floor, and disappeared over the edge.

A crunching, final thud immediately followed.

Henry crawled to the edge, already hearing a sorrowful moan from Uncle Ray. John Lee, unmoving, head bent at a sickening angle. One eye bulged slightly from its socket. Blood ran in a slow river from his mouth. The oblique shotgun wound to his forehead was barely more than a scrape, but Henry didn't have to look twice to see that his cousin was dead.

o o o

Uncle Raymond tearfully confessed to killing his boy; there was no other way to explain how John Lee had died naked and gunshot by his own father. The county coroner ruled it an accident, 'death by misadventure' they called it.

The entire family came to the same conclusion though, that it was Henry who was responsible for leading his cousin into sin and the immediate divine punishment. No one ever said it aloud, but he was reviled. Most painful of all was his own father, telling him to get out, to go to the cities where sinners and sodomites were welcome. His father, always nurturing, became hostile. "You're a stranger to the Lord, and to me," the man growled. "Get away from this house, boy."

So in shock he could barely speak, Henry accepted the harsh judgement. That stifling night, he crept away, leaving only a note for his mother. His father found it in the dawn light, crumpled the note up and threw it in the kitchen garbage.

o o o

Henry moaned, weeping himself dry in the darkness. He was getting exactly what he deserved.

o o o o o

The impromptu barbeque had burned down, and Helen shrugged back into her new coat. "Time to take care of the garbage," she said. "Wanna come?"

Mena had dragged the washtub to a floor drain, and was tipping it carefully over. She shook her head. "I'm going to leave some goodies for my 'man of the cloth'," the girl held up a shred of black shirt, "...heh...and make sure he's ok." Fingers brushed the 'tunnel vision' headset dangling around her neck.

"Have fun giving him nightmares," Helen grinned as she twirled her cane and sauntered out. "Remember, the way to a man's heart is through his ribcage." Her neice chuckled at the veiled threat.

Helen emerged into the cool night air filling the ruined ground floor. At first surrounded by rotting brick and concrete, she felt her way carefully over rubble to the main door, then out into the moonlight.

Her beast had removed a great deal of machinery from the garbage truck, and set it aside. The hydraulic system, minus the brakes, she hoped. The dark creature looked up, and moonlight glinted from its teeth.

She motioned with her head to the BEATNGU. "Wanna follow?" The monster nodded; Helen continued. "I'll trash the trash truck, and then...we can play." She smiled. "Probably'll hurt tomorrow, but for now, I feel great."

Leering happily, the creature stepped in close to sniff. Before its hands could close on her, Helen ducked and trotted away towards the stripped garbage truck. "Catch me!" she called over her shoulder.

o o o o o

The eastern sky was just turning from grey to dust-choked rose when the monster's truck rolled back up to the old powerhouse.

Small hours of the morning had yielded a rich and bloody harvest. The back doors, their windows blinded by scratched, peeling paint, were opened with a surprised creak. A woman and a beast dressed as a man surveyed half a dozen seeping figures, most bound in blankets and rope.

The monster stepped into the back of the truck; Helen propped her cane against the bumper and awkwardly climbed in behind. She reached down and grabbed the rope binding one of the sheet-wrapped bodies, used it as a handle to pull the corpse out.

Pausing, she covered her nose with a free hand. "God Almighty, it stinks..."

The creature turned a bewildered face to her, a dripping bundle under one arm.

Helen raised her eyebrows while she dropped back to the ground. "Smells like fifty pounds of used tampons in here."

Sniffing deeply and with obvious relish, the monster spoke up. "Smells - _good_."

She chuckled silently, shaking her head, and dragged the body away behind her.

There was one carcass left when she returned to the truck, hung by its bindings from a hook far back in the right corner. _This one was too special to get tossed on the pile, huh?_, she thought, wrapping her arms around it. Helen lifted, but the corpse was limp and flopped to the side, refused to come free of the hook.

She leaned against the wall to get a better grip behind the stiff. This time the heavy bundle came free...but she couldn't move.

Helen grumbled, and tried to see what she was stuck on. With her arms full, it was hopeless, and she reluctantly let go of the body. As it sagged into the corner, she was able to make out the snarl of hooks and chains she had inadvertantly leaned against, entangling them in her hardware through the side slit of her coat. Even better - a part of the brace she could barely see or reach, almost under her ass. Sighing, she tried to loosen them, but in the dim light made little headway.

The monster's jaunty bootsteps crunched up to the truck. Helen swung around as far as she could, leaning her back against the interior wall. When the creature's silhouette appeared in the doorway, still dressed for business, she gave a wry smirk.

"I shoulda known this thing would be booby-trapped." She patted the metal wall. "I'm stuck."

A slow smile crept up the monster's face. The axle creaked as it stepped up into the back of the truck, turned and slammed both doors shut. It stooped slightly and clomped over to her, its body blocking the muddy rectangles of light. Chains and implements clanked when the creature brushed through them; a soft _flump_ as its hat was knocked off, fell to the floor.

"Caught _you_."

The creature sniffed briefly at her face, then stooped to inspect her predicament. Instead of freeing her, though, it straightened and seized her left wrist in one bony hand. "Hey-," she barked as her arm was stretched far and high; then her monster impaled the leather cuff on another hook. It stepped back, appraising her, chuckling.

"Huhhh huhhh huhhhhh," it growled. "Caught you."

Helen laughed too, and her blood was already racing; little as she cared for imprisonment, being trapped by this beast was an unexpected thrill. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed the monster's coat, pulled hard until they were face to face. It kicked her left foot aside, stepped in to press its body close to hers. Helen groaned as the creature bent to nuzzle her neck, the underside of her jaw, tasting.

A large hand snaked between their bellies and curled around the waist of her pants. She swatted it away. The monster growled, startled, blinking at her. Helen just smiled, took its hand back, and guided a claw to the ring dangling from her waistband.

The beast pulled the zipper down, ...and down, ...and still it didn't end. "What a concept, huh?" Helen said with a snort; her monster was clearly fascinated. "It's so difficult to get out of these," she waved at the straps and buckles interlaced through her hardware, "I just rigged 'em so I don't have to." The creature's mischievous eyes raised to meet hers.

She leered, whispered, "It goes all the way back."

Her pubic hairs were tickled as the rough hand unzipped between her legs; then its edge dragged back over her tender flesh, delving into the nascent slickness there. She gasped and her hips curled forward, but the creature lifted the hand to its face, inhaled deeply. A growling moan, and it crashed to its knees, clutching her tightly as it mashed its face into her groin and took long breaths.

The monster's tongue extended, slid gently along her swelling labia. Helen's free leg opened wider to the creature's hungry attentions. The tongue made a second pass, dipping between to taste. The creature whined, began lapping at her deeply, unhurriedly. It grasped her hips in a firm grip, one underhand, one over, holding her to its mouth. Her head fell back, bounced lightly against the rusty sheet metal, her mouth open in a sigh.

Helen managed to settle her left thigh on the monster's shoulder, though it's wing jerked under the coat for a moment. She stuggled to lift her head; she wanted to watch the dark beast.

The sight shot an electric spear of heat up her body. In the half-light from the ruined back windows; the monster's head buried between her legs, moving slightly as it savored her. It's eyes were half-closed, unfocused. The stringy white tail of hair spilled down the back of its coat.

The beast crouched and fed on her, absorbed. Helen reached out with her free right hand, laid her spread fingers on the leathery scalp. Bony spines twitched underneath, and the monster's eyes burst open, looking straight at hers. Its mouth never paused.

The monster blinked slowly, it's expression somewhere between a stare and a dreamy gaze.

Captured in the feeding creature's eyes, she repeatedly found herself falling into a trance, her muscles relaxing. Time became mutable, as Helen felt a euphoria that seemed to grow over minutes, or hours. Each time she felt herself slide under the spell, she breathed deeply, fighting the loss of control. Her fingers curled on the back of the monster's scalp, scraping her nails lightly over the stretched skin.

Still gazing at her, the creature slid one dark hand slowly up her body, over her breast. The hand clenched; an echo of her gesture, claws shredding her shirt as it pulled back down. Helen had to close her mouth and swallow before a drop of spittle escaped. She let go, let the monster have her reins. Almost immediately, the wildfire orgasm swept over her.

She'd have fallen if she weren't hung, and propped from below. Helen's body rocked crazily as she rode it out; panting whines spilled from her open mouth. The intense sweetness didn't fade, but seemed to disperse all over her skin, into her bones. A deep growl rumbled into her from the creature; its eyes had closed again, mercifully.

The air inside the truck had become very warm and close; the muted flecks of light brighter. Sweat plastered hair to her cheek. The monster took one last lick, then began to rise; it slid out from under her leg, which she kept wrapped about its body. The creature smeared its sticky face into the sweat on her belly, between her breasts, rubbing her scent into the gnarled hide of its torso. It reached her face, seemed slightly unsteady; grinning like a fool, breathing heavily, pressing against her.

She reached for its fly, but it wouldn't be hurried, just nuzzled her face dreamily, sniffing as it ground its body into hers. Finally the monster yanked at its own pants, too mindless to be neat, popped a mouldering seam open enough to free itself. It slid into her, began fucking her with slow, sharp strokes. In tense hands the creature grasped her head, held her to its face.

She was briefly startled when the monster's wings jerked out, rending the coat apart. The wings flexed and shuddered, flicking the rags mostly away. They swept up to enclose her head and the creature's; a second pair of bony hands. In the dim amber light within its wings, the creature's eye gleamed ravenously at her.

The beast licked her face when she came, but kept going at the same agonizing pace. It breathed deeply, its wings squeezed down tighter.

Her skin tingled, every sensation amplified; the monster's groans not heard, but felt. The sound of her own labored breathing masked the rushing in her ears. The tingles flowed to her lips, her fingers, became a numbness. She realized dimly that the numbness was spreading, that her entire body cried out, starving for oxygen. No words came to her lips, and she began to slide down.

The monster noticed her slumping, slowed, pawed her face. Helen managed to fill her lungs enough to croak, "...air. ...need...air." Half conscious, she felt the monster pull out of her, regret at the sudden emptiness; vague sensations of unfurling movement and pulling; then brightness and open, cool air; tumbling to the grassy earth.

As she filled her lungs with the delicious air and forced her vision to clear, she saw the creature lying beside her on its back, wings half open and flapping loosely through shreds of its coat. The monster was growling or laughing; its head lolled drunkenly back and forth. It ripped up a handful of grass, tossed it in the breeze.

Lifting her left arm, Helen saw the big crude hook still in her sleeve, along with an eyebolt and splintered wood. She rolled aside and felt behind her; same thing - the tangle of chains and hooks had just been ripped from the wall. Her beast seemed to be recoving its senses; it crawled over to her, a goofy smile still plastered on its normally dreadful face. It inhaled deeply, still chuckling.

"Huhhhhh huhhhh," _sniff f f_, "...good...huhhhh hhuhhh," _sniff f_.

She glanced down and a broad grin spread across her face. The monster was still hard and eager. Helen pulled the sweat-drenched coat off as she got to her feet, then climbed into the truck again, turned and curled fingers at the creature. Eyes wide, it leapt after her, slamming the door shut behind.

A few moments later, half of an axehead punched through the metal side of the truck; it was yanked back and forth to widen the gap. With a screech the axe was removed, a thud as it was tossed aside. A smiling mouth appeared in the hole, gasped sharply as a grunt came from behind her.

The truck creaked faintly as it swayed from side to side.

_End of Chapter 20_

A/N: Uhhh, remember what I said about no more slash? I really mean it now. I think. Probably.

A scrap of inspiration came from the excellent novel I Am Legend by Richard Matheson.

Music: 'Cheap Sunglasses' by ZZ Top, 'Mercy' by Lorrie & Larry Collins


End file.
